


It's Just The Price I Pay

by LordOfThePies88



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alive Hale Family, Angst, Complete, Forbidden Love, Human Derek Hale, I'm so sorry, M/M, Mild Fluff, Musician Derek Hale, POV Alternating, Prostitute Stiles Stilinski, Prostitution, Singer Derek, So much angst, call house au, mothering lydia, not really smut but sexual content so??, skeezy jackson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-15 20:48:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 23,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11238903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordOfThePies88/pseuds/LordOfThePies88
Summary: “The customers like it when they have something they can rip off me. It’s like opening a present!” Stiles winked when he caught Derek staring at him in the mirror. “Like what you see?” Derek turned away to hide the red blossoming across his cheeks.“Those pants are ridiculous,” Derek muttered. He knew it was obvious, had been for months, but he tried in vain to conceal his attraction to Stiles anyway.“Right? I think they make my ass look fantastic.” The dressing room door flew open and all activity came to a screeching halt.





	1. Chapter One: Derek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on [this incredible piece](http://benaya-trash.tumblr.com/post/161280207657) by Benaya Trash on Tumblr!
> 
> And thank you a thousand times over, as always, to my bff Cassie for beta reading
> 
> Title is from [Mr. Brightside](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gGdGFtwCNBE)

When Derek started working at the call house – an upscale brothel, for all intents and purposes – he was warned to keep his hands ‘off the merchandise’. It had been easy enough. He’d gotten used to the workers in the house after his first week. He’d stopped getting distracted by their outfits, stopped getting flustered by the way they’d flirt and dance and tease him. He was there to be a professional, to sing, and he wasn’t about to let himself get distracted any more than he already had. Derek was simply no longer interested in any of the prostitutes that worked in the house. Except Stiles. Stiles moved in and started working barely a month after Derek was hired. There was just something about him, and Derek wasn’t sure if it was his sarcasm or smarts or natural beauty, or maybe all three, but he stopped denying long ago that working alongside Stiles was the highlight of his job. Everything was easy with Stiles, comfortable. That’s probably what drew Derek to him in the first place.  


Derek hummed scales, warming up his voice as he tamed stray hairs in a dressing room mirror. Scantily clad beautiful men and women bustled around him, applying makeup and changing outfits. In the reflection, Derek watched Stiles step out from behind a shoji screen, arms outstretched, posing.  


“I’m going for spoiled sugar baby. What do you think?” He was in tight white jeans and a black polo, with small crystal studs in his ears. Stiles stepped up to the mirror beside Derek to fix his hair.  


“You look like if I don’t give you what you want, you’ll throw a tantrum in the middle of the restaurant.” Derek picked a pink feather off the back of Stiles’ shirt.  


“Perfect!”  


“Oh, sweetheart, no.” Lydia tilted her head in Stiles’ direction. “You can _not_ wear full clothing out on the floor. Gerard will have a fit.” She rushed over to a clothes rack and started shifting through the outfits.  


“Gerard can fuck himself.” Stiles checked himself out in the mirror. Lydia rolled her eyes but gave up without a fight, returning to her mirror to finish her makeup. She was a prostitute, but seemed to have taken on a sort of mother role among the workers and a right-hand-man role with the owner, Gerard. “The customers like it when they have something they can rip off me. It’s like opening a present!” Stiles winked when he caught Derek staring at him in the mirror. “Like what you see?” Derek turned away to hide the red blossoming across his cheeks.  


“Those pants are ridiculous,” Derek muttered. He knew it was obvious, had been for months, but he tried in vain to conceal his attraction to Stiles anyway.  


“Right? I think they make my ass look fantastic.” The dressing room door flew open and all activity came to a screeching halt.  


“Alright, ladies and gents,” Gerard announced, “the show is starting.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the door, holding it open. Derek left the room as the workers got into their spots in line, Lydia taking the lead. He bounced down the hall and up the hidden entrance to the stage, gave a quick nod to his band members, and readied himself for the night to come. The curtains pulled away and the musicians around him started playing a song they’d practiced together hundreds of times. Derek didn’t even have to focus on the lyrics as he watched the workers strut out onto the floor, parading themselves. His gaze lingered on Stiles who was already breaking away from the line, zeroing in on his first target of the night. Derek swallowed, grateful for a pause in the lyrics, as he watched Stiles bend over and slide his hands up a middle-aged man’s thighs, faces close enough that he was sure Stiles could smell the whiskey on his breath. Derek couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy deep in his chest as the man pulled Stiles into his lap. He wished he could touch Stiles like that, but ‘hands off the merchandise, no free trials’ echoed in his head every time he was tempted. He watched, helpless, as the man pulled out his wallet and Stiles littered his neck with soft kisses. Stiles was good at his job. He managed to lead men into back rooms at almost twice the rate the other workers did and it killed Derek to know that none of them took the time or care that Stiles deserved. Stiles led the man back through some curtains, into the hall of gaudily decorated bedrooms. The man passed cash to Gerard as the curtains closed behind them. Derek pushed all his focus into singing.

\-----------

The two returned an hour later and Derek couldn’t help but enjoy the way Stiles’ lips looked kiss-swollen. His mood plummeted at the realization that Stiles’ lips were likely not swollen from kisses. That was how most nights passed for Derek. Only half-focusing on singing and lending the rest of his attention to watching Stiles disappear with strange men behind the curtain, then return an hour later, looking slightly more exhausted but never any less beautiful. The band took a break when all the customers had been led away to back rooms and only a few workers remained on the floor, sprawled across red velvet couches, resting with their eyes closed or involved in quiet conversation. Derek hopped off the stage and strolled towards Stiles. He was resting his head on Lydia’s lap as she observed the remaining workers in her protective way, making sure none of them were too drained or had been harmed by customers.  


“Have you seen me out here, Der? I’m making a killing tonight.” Stiles smiled lazily up at him, melting into Lydia’s hand stroking his hair.  


“You certainly know what you’re doing.” Derek smirked and crossed his arms.  


“It’s like he was born for this,” Lydia said, idly twirling Stiles hair around her finger. Stiles patted the couch beside his hip.  


“Totally.” Stiles placed his hand on Derek’s thigh as he sat on the edge of the couch. Derek’s heart jumped just a little and he tried to remind himself that it didn’t mean anything, that Stiles was just a super tactile person. “It is my goal in life to make as many men feel as _good_ as possible.” He closed his eyes, the ghost of a smile lingering on his lips. Of course, Derek already knew Stiles enjoyed his work. He knew the reason Stiles was so good at his job was because he loved it, but it still made Derek clench his jaw all the same. He didn’t have an issue with the job, he didn’t have an issue with Stiles enjoying it. The only issue Derek had was that it meant Stiles would never want to leave the call house and settle down with someone like him.


	2. Chapter 2: Stiles

Stiles was only half listening to the man whispering in his ear, rolling his eyes dramatically for Derek on stage. A wordless ‘oh my god, you would not believe what this guy is saying’. Stiles liked the way Derek didn’t even bother trying to hide his smile. This customer was almost too easy. He was practically doing Stiles’ job for him, getting himself worked up and convincing himself to go into a back room. All Stiles had to do was make sure he was biting his bottom lip and giggling at the right moments while gently trailing kisses along the lines of the man’s neck, or running fingers through salt and pepper hair.  


“How would you feel about going somewhere a little more – ” Stiles paused for dramatic effect and looked at the man through his lashes, “ – private?” He tugged gently on the stranger’s cheap tie. Marcus - Stiles was pretty sure he’d introduced himself as Marcus - stood up so fast that Stiles barely had a chance to get his feet under him. Stiles led Marcus through the curtains, slowing a moment to allow him to pay Gerard, and pulled him into the first room available.  


“Finally,” Marcus growled. He pulled Stiles in for an aggressive kiss, mostly clashing teeth and too much tongue. Stiles pulled away for a moment to get some air. Not because the kiss was breath-taking, but because his nose had been smooshed in the kissing process, blocking all airways.  


“How do you want me?” Stiles bit his bottom lip, leaning away from Marcus, trying to act coy. He couldn’t stand the smell of him. Stale cigarettes, beer, and like he could have seriously used a shower at least three days ago.  


“Knees,” Marcus huffed. “On your knees, bitch.” An ugly sneer of a smile split Marcus’ face and Stiles dropped, doing his honest-to-god best to pretend he didn’t want to just walk out and watch Derek sing. He could hear his voice, soft and low, perfectly pitched and, _God_ , Stiles just loved the way Derek performed when he really got into it, like he was giving the mic stand the dance of its life with the promise of making sweet love to it later. Derek worked a stage better than Stiles could ever dream of working a lonely man in a suit and tie. Thoughts of the devastatingly handsome singer were rudely interrupted by Marcus roughly gripping Stiles’ hair and shoving his head towards his crotch. Stiles tried to look like he was hungry for it as he undid the button and zipper on Marcus’ slacks, tried to act like he was _enjoying_ it.  


“How bad do you want it,” Stiles purred, working the man’s length – if it could even be called _length_ – through his white briefs, trying to get him fully erect.  


“Shut up and suck it, bitch,” Marcus snarled. Stiles curled his toes in his shoes, knowing Marcus would see any other physical manifestations of his annoyance. He pulled Marcus’ still somewhat-limp dick out into the air and wrapped his lips around the head. He hated the taste. Sour, bitter, borderline fishy. Had this man never heard of soap? Stiles tried to work his magic but, as he predicted, nothing he did on his own would fully satisfy Marcus. The old man took hold of Stiles’ hair on either side of his head and fucked into his mouth. Stiles ignored the way his throat already felt bruised and let his neck relax, giving Marcus full control over everything. Giving him control meant it would be over sooner. At least this way, Stiles could go numb and close his eyes. This way, he could listen to Derek’s voice. He imagined sitting on one of the red velvet couches, watching Derek sing and dance, performing just for him.

\------------

Stiles pretended to need a little longer than the others in the dressing room, waiting ‘til the last of his fellow workers had gone off to their respective bedrooms, leaving him alone with Derek. It had become a routine they’d developed when Stiles had _actually_ needed to stay late after a particularly awful run-in with a jar of purple body glitter, courtesy of Erica, and Derek had been too much of a gentleman to leave Stiles alone in the dressing room. It gave them time to talk and be together, since Derek wasn’t allowed in the back half of the house where the workers lived.  


“You were great tonight,” Stiles said as he dropped on the far end of the green couch. He’d changed back into soft track pants and a loose t-shirt, glad to be out of skin-tight clothes. Derek was fixated on a book. “Hello?” Stiles huffed, indignant, when it was clear Derek still hadn’t heard him. He faked a yawn and stretched is legs out, flipping the book shut with a bare foot. Derek shot a look at Stiles, eyes wild and brows furrowed. Stiles finished his faux-stretch and grinned. “Whoops.”  


“You better hope I can find my page,” Derek grumbled, sliding the book into his messenger bag.  


“Or what?” Stiles leaned his head back against his interlocked fingers. “You can’t leave a mark on me, I’m Gerard’s most prized possession.” Stiles poked Derek’s thigh with his toe, daring him to do something. Derek’s face softened and he cupped a hand on Stiles’ knee.  


“You’re not his possession. You know that, right? You’re not an object, Stiles.”  


“May as well be. Prostitute, object, what’s the difference to him?” He flashed a mirthless smile and shrugged. Derek opened his mouth and Stiles cut him off. “You were really good out there today.”  


“Thanks.” Derek’s hand fell from Stiles’ knee and his heart dropped at the loss of the first welcome touch he’d felt all night. Stiles shifted cautiously, hoping his turning and resting his head in Derek’s lap would go unnoticed. Despite the art of crawling into bed with strangers being his job, Stiles felt like he hardly ever experienced human touch. The corners of Derek’s mouth quirked up and he draped an arm across Stiles’ chest, but he didn’t look down, and Stiles let himself imagine he’d gotten away with stealth-cuddling. 

“What was with that major eye roll you gave me?”  


“Which one?” Stiles rested his fingers on Derek’s arm.  


“The one you shot me when you were on that guy’s lap.”  


“Oh my _god_ ,” Stiles laughed. “This guy, _this fucking guy_ , do you know what he said to me?” Derek shook his head. “He said he was going to do to me what nobody had ever done before and I was like, what, you’re going to tip me a decent amount? You’re going to be concerned with my comfort? Maybe even _hold_ me after? He didn’t even do anything exciting, just gave me a bruise at the back of my throat, I’m pretty sure.” Stiles rolled his eyes again just at the memory. Derek’s lips had formed into a line. “Shit, sorry, I know you don’t like it when I talk about – ”  


“It’s not you talking about it that bothers me. It’s the way they treat you. You shouldn’t be ending the night with a bruised throat.” Derek’s fingers curled around Stiles’ shoulder and squeezed.  


“See, _you’d_ do to me what nobody else has done. I bet you’d even be a good tipper. Not that I’d want you to tip, or even pay…” Stiles literally bit his tongue. He knew Derek didn’t think of him that way, no matter how much he hoped. Harmless flirting was one thing, but suggestions of intimacy was another. Desperately, he searched his mind for something else to talk about. “Hey, you know what I learned the other day?” Derek made a noise of encouragement. “Some of the reasons male circumcision used to be performed were to repel demonesses or to show that the guy could endure pain. Crazy, right?”  


“Circumcision facts. You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”  


“You like that about me.” Stiles reached up tapped the tip of Derek’s nose. Derek crinkled his nose and snapped a bite at the air in the direction of Stiles’ finger. Someone cleared their throat and Derek ripped his hand away from Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles sat up but refused to meet Gerard’s eyes.  


“Stiles, I think it’s time for you to get some sleep, don’t you?” Gerard smiled, as if his suggestion came from a place of concern and not protecting his assets. Stiles didn’t dare glance back at Derek as he left the room. He’d expected Gerard to follow him out but when he turned around to see an empty hall, he paused and listened.“He sells his body to anyone who comes through the front door, Derek. What will he do with that heart of yours if you give it to him? Remember, for your sake and the sake of the business – ”  


“Yeah, hands off the merchandise. No free trials. I know.” Derek’s voice was quiet, but there was a certain bite to it that made warmth spread in Stiles’ chest. Maybe he’d been wrong, maybe Derek did feel something and was just as disappointed as Stiles was over their alone time being interrupted. Stiles caught Derek’s eyes for a moment as he stepped through the door, then turned away to go home. Gerard followed him out and locked the door to the dressing room. The look he gave Stiles this time was much less kind.  


“Bed, Stiles. Now.”  


“What, no crocodile smile, old man? I didn’t realize we put on shows for the musicians now too.” Stiles’ nostrils flared and his lip twitched. Gerard closed the space between them, grabbed the collar of Stiles’ shirt, and dragged him towards the back half of the house. Stiles swatted at his hand and flailed out of his grip. “Bed. Got it. No need for you to take me there.” He strode ahead, keeping his back turned to Gerard. “I’ve had enough old men lead me to a bed for one day, thanks.”


	3. Chapter 3: Derek

A pink feather boa flew in front of Derek’s face. A voice shouted ‘sorry’ and Derek shook his head. He sipped at room temperature water and hummed quietly to himself. The dressing room was particularly loud today, but it still seemed empty without a certain someone. Derek was worried that Stiles was upset, knowing that he’d likely heard the small reprimand Derek had received from Gerard the night before. In a whirlwind of limbs, Stiles flew into the dressing room before stopping to take a breath and regain composure.  


“Sorry I’m late.” He sauntered over to Derek and clapped a hand on his shoulder.  


“Didn’t notice,” Derek said flatly. Tension melted away from his shoulders, relief washing over him in waves.  


“Please, it’s impossible not to notice when I’m missing.” Stiles placed his hands on his hips. He was wearing nothing more than fitted track pants, riding low enough to show off the band of his boxer briefs, and thick-rimmed glasses Derek knew he didn’t need. “How do I look?” Derek involuntarily cocked an eyebrow. “I think I’m ready for the floor.”  


“What look are you going for today?” Derek focused on his shoes to avoid staring at Stiles’ naked torso. It was something he’d seen many times before, but it was distractingly beautiful nonetheless. One day he wanted to memorize every line of muscle and every little mole. “The ‘I couldn’t be bothered to get dressed’ look?”  


“I was thinking more ‘boyfriend on a lazy Sunday’.” Stiles took his glasses off and cleaned the lenses on a tissue.  


“You forgot to do laundry, didn’t you?”  


“Depends how you define ‘forget’.” Stiles put his glasses back on and Derek’s stomach flip-flopped. Who knew glasses could do it for him? Derek tilted his head and Stiles groaned. “I didn’t technically forget, I just – ” Stiles sighed, “ – didn’t get around to it. The look works though, doesn’t it?”  


“Depends how you define ‘works’,” Derek said, doing his best imitation of Stiles.  


“I mean – ” Stiles hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his track pants, guiding Derek’s eyes to the sharp jut of his hipbones, “ - doesn’t it make you want to come to bed? Ignore the clock and responsibilities and lose track of time? Waste hours doing _whatever you want with me_?” Stiles bit his lower lip and leaned his head to the side, baring his neck ever so slightly. Derek’s heart skipped a beat and his jaw threatened to drop.  


“It works,” he breathed and he felt a blush quickly rushing up the sides of his face. Stiles was beaming, almost seeming surprised by Derek’s reaction. A loud whistle filled the room and the workers jumped into their places in line. Derek met Gerard’s disapproving gaze and felt like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, frozen in place. He dared to cast a quick glance at Stiles, who was looking down at the floor, chewing his bottom lip, before getting ahold of himself and rushing past Gerard, out the door, to the stage.

\------------

Thankfully, the house was not overly busy, which brought Derek a little bit of comfort, knowing Stiles would have to deal with a few less careless men for one night. He couldn't help but watch the way Stiles draped himself over the customers and dream it was him instead. What Derek wouldn't give to hold him in his lap, give Stiles kisses along _his_ neck for a change. The way Stiles was looking at him tonight was different. It was less playful, more - well, if Derek didn't know better - filled with desire and affection. He caught Stiles watching him dance through his thick lashes, whiskey brown eyes following him across the stage. Halfway through the night, one customer grabbed Stiles' face and turned it back to his own, almost hitting Stiles with the cherry of the cigarette dangling from his lips, obviously displeased with what he viewed as misdirected attention. It left a tense feeling in Derek's chest until that particular man left. Lydia led the last customer behind the curtain and Stiles jumped up on the stage while the pianist played something long, mellow, and – most importantly – lyric-free.  


“God you are _killin'_ it up here!” Stiles skated his fingers across the powered-off microphone, grinning widely.  


“You're not doing so bad yourself,” Derek replied. “Stiles, there's something I need to talk – ”  


“Dance with me.”  


“Pardon?” Derek shook his head, not sure his ears were to be trusted.  


“Dance with me! I see the way you are up here with the mic stand, and I want to know if it's any different when your partner is human.” The light caught a small dusting of gold body glitter on Stiles' shoulder as he placed his hand on Derek's waist. Derek shook his head and moved Stiles' hand to his bicep.  


“You may be asking for this dance, but I'm talking the lead.” He put his hand on Stiles' bare waist and almost immediately regretted the decision. Stiles' skin was so incredibly soft and if Derek didn't want to kiss every inch of his body before, he definitely did now. Derek told himself it was too late to back out and ignored the way it felt like his entire hand was thrumming with electricity where it rested against Stiles’ waist. He took Stiles’ hand in his own and, god, how he wanted that hand in his as often as possible. They started slow, swaying side to side and taking a few hesitant steps. As the song picked up pace, so did their dancing, evolving into spins and shallow dips and laughter when Stiles stepped on Derek’s toes.  


“Hey, fun fact,” Stiles said as he spun into Derek’s body, “calling wine glasses crystal is a bit of a misleading name, they’re actually made with _lead_ , but it won’t harm you unless you use your crystalware for storage of drinks.”  


“That is, surprisingly, a fun fact.”  


“My facts are always fun. Another fun fact, the rhinoceros – ”  


“Stiles, I really have to talk to you about something,” Derek sighed into chestnut brown hair as they swayed together with Stiles’ back to his chest. Stiles turned around and rested his hands on the back of Derek’s neck.  


“What’s up, Der?” Stiles’ smile didn’t meet his eyes and Derek felt awful for worrying him. As if on cue, Stiles’ gaze flicked over Derek’s shoulder and his eyes went wide. “That’s going to have to wait, Derek. We have an audience.” They broke apart and Derek turned to see Gerard with one eyebrow raised, gesturing with his head to a customer walking in. Stiles hopped off the stage and Derek wanted to spit at Gerard. Couldn't he send someone else? There were at least three other workers not otherwise engaged. Stiles turned to face Derek, walking backwards. "Talk to me in the dressing room after?"  


"Definitely."  


"Promise?" Stiles almost stumbled over the edge of a rug. Derek nodded and smiled softly.  


"Promise. I'll be there," Derek assured. Stiles winked and quickly shot finger guns in his direction before transforming into the working version of himself and disappearing behind the curtain, strange man in tow.

\-------------

"Derek," Gerard shouted down the hall, "just the man I wanted to see. Mind joining me in my office? It will only take a moment." Derek shot a glance down the hall to the dressing room he had been heading towards. "You don't have other plans I'm keeping you from, do you?" Gerard smiled knowingly.  


"No." Derek tore his eyes away from the room where Stiles was waiting and followed Gerard in the opposite direction. Moments later he found himself in Gerard's office, a pristinely clean and incredibly organized space with shelves and a large oak desk.  


"So, Derek, it seems our little chat last night didn't sink in." Gerard laced his fingers together on the desk in front of him, smiling still.  


"Sorry, I'm not sure I understand what you're - "  


"Don't play stupid with me, Derek." Gerard's face was suddenly stern, his voice more so. "Don't think I didn't see you today, getting close with Stiles. Unless you're going to pay for him, keep your hands off. Are you going to pay for him, Derek?"  


"No." Derek inhaled deeply, eyebrows lowering and lips going thin.  


"I didn't think so. Hands off then, hm? He's my best source of income. The customers just eat him up. I wouldn't want you somehow convincing him he could have a normal relationship and taking him away from me. You know he couldn't, right?"  


"Sir, with all due respect - "  


"Say it,” Gerard snapped, “say you know he could never have a normal relationship.”  


"I know - " Derek inhaled sharply, glad the door was closed so there would be no witnesses, " - I know he could never have a normal relationship."  


"And," Gerard encouraged. Derek's hands curled into fists in his lap.  


"And I should keep my hands off the merchandise unless I'm going to pay for it," Derek finished through clenched teeth.  


"Good, I'm glad to hear you say it." Gerard stood and Derek, too happy to get the hell out of there, followed his lead to the office door. Gerard landed a hand heavily on Derek's shoulder. "Let's hope it sticks this time. Have a safe drive home, Derek. See you on Friday." He held Derek's gaze for just a little longer than would otherwise be necessary, and squeezed his shoulder just a little harder than he normally would. Derek nodded slowly, chewing the inside of his cheek, holding a sneer at bay. Gerard opened the door and stepped aside to let Derek pass. Derek stepped into the hallway and everything in his body itched to just get home, get out of the call house. He pushed through the front doors and headed straight to his car, grateful he had the next day off.


	4. Chapter 4: Stiles

Stiles tapped something off-beat on the couch arm in the dressing room. The other workers had cleared out long ago and now he was sitting in silence, only the dull drumming to keep him company. It had been over an hour since they closed for the night and he knew any minute Gerard would be coming down the hall to lock up the dressing room. Derek had promised he'd show, he seemed genuine when he’d promised. So, where was he? Stiles bit down on his tongue, doing his damn best to ignore the lump in his throat and growing ball of disappointment in his gut. Maybe some of it was embarrassment, too. What made it even worse was Stiles knew he wouldn't see Derek during his next shift. Thursdays were Derek's day off. Thursday was Stiles' least favourite day of the week. He heard the jingle of Gerard's keys down the hall and he rushed out of the room, through the kitchen, and into his bedroom, throwing himself down onto his bed. Stiles tried to shut his eyes and just sleep in his too-hard mattress surrounded by stark white walls he'd yet to decorate, but to no avail. It hurt more than he'd like to admit. He stared at the ceiling for two hours before finally passing out simply from exhaustion.

\------------

The smell of coffee called Stiles out of bed. He followed the scent into the kitchen, weaving around his housemates to the already half-empty pot on the counter.  


"Your mug is in the drying rack," Lydia said from the fridge.  


"Thanks," Stiles mumbled. He reached for his mug and poured a cup, sighing and letting his shoulders roll into a horrible posture.  


"You good?" Danny wrapped his arm around Stiles' shoulders and squeezed gently.  


"Yeah - " Stiles shook his head and straightened up, " - didn't sleep well. That's all. Thanks." Stiles rested his head briefly on Danny's shoulder – an armless return of the hug – while stirring a spoonful of sugar into his coffee.  


"I saw Gerard pull Derek into his office last night," Erica piped up from the table, "heard Derek say something about not wanting a relationship through the door."  


"You're too nosy for your own good," Lydia warned, disapproval written all over her face. Stiles nodded to himself. _That’s it then._ Stiles wandered back to his room to hide away until the beginning of his shift.

\-----

In the dressing room, the part-time singer hovered just a little close to Lydia and Stiles side-eyed him the entire time, watching him carefully. He was fully aware Lydia could handle anyone that tried anything without her permission, but it didn't mean he had to be okay with unwelcome advances.  


"Jackson, would you mind getting me a glass of water?" Lydia smiled sweetly at the singer straddling a backwards chair, his legs spread way too far to be comfortable. He bounced away and she sighed, dropping back against her chair.  


"If you ever want me to punch him in the throat, let me know. It's a firmly held belief of mine that we don't use physical forms of defense nearly often enough." Stiles didn't smile. Though the statement, as most of his were, was meant to be somewhat humorous, the offer was sincere.  


"I'm fine. He just wants attention and probably a free fuck. You know how boys like that are." She perked back up and began applying a dusting of blush.  


"Desperate? Creepy? In need of a good throat punching?"  


“All of the above," Lydia snickered. Stiles turned back to his mirror to apply a light layer of mascara. He knew one of his best assets was his eyes and, _wow_ , did his discovery of mascara just strengthen the whole situation. Jackson came back and handed the glass of water to Lydia.  


"So? Saturday night? I can pick you up after you're done work."  


"Jackson," Lydia sighed, "if you want my time, you're going to have to pay for it like everyone else." Lydia swiped on lipstick and Jackson turned his chair so he was facing Stiles. He trailed a finger down Stiles' bare shoulder toward his hand.  


"How about you," Jackson purred, "would I have to pay for you too?" Stiles turned, tempted to punch his stupid throat then and there. Thinking better of it, he leaned in and brushed his bottom lip against Jackson's. He watched Jackson's eyes flutter at the touch and proximity.  


"I could make you feel so good, I'd ruin you for anyone else," Stiles whispered. Lydia was watching intently, an eyebrow cocked, intrigued. Jackson's fingers curled around Stiles' wrist where they stopped. "I could make you need my touch more than air." Stiles' slid his hand up Jackson's thigh and kissed the hinge of his jaw. "But trust me when I say - " he nipped Jackson's earlobe, " – if you can’t afford Lydia, you _definitely_ can’t afford me." He pulled away, grinning. By the look on Jackson's face, his efforts had been just as effective as a swift punch anyway. Jackson's squeezed Stiles' wrist and he brought his face so close their noses nearly touched. He twitched his upper lip, like he was going to say something, before shoving Stiles' hand away and storming out of the dressing room. Lydia scoffed and shook her head. "What?" Stiles wished Derek didn’t have days off.

\-----------

The smell of cigars, aftershave, and whiskey invaded Stiles' nose as he kissed his customer's neck. Sharp stubble prickled lips and a firm hand gripped his hip. The customer - David, he'd heard Gerard call him - was involved in a game Stiles had never heard of, but the idiot bet all the cash he'd brought with him and Stiles hoped that meant he would be leading one less customer through the curtains. He couldn't focus on Jackson's voice the same way when he was with a customer in the back rooms, and even when he was out on the floor, Jackson just didn't perform the same way. It was like he was _trying_ , all his movements calculated and stilted. With Derek, it was like the art of performance was something set deep in his soul.  


"I need some luck. Kiss," David instructed, holding his fist in front of Stiles' face. Stiles kissed his knuckles and pretended to be excited as David rolled the dice across the table. By the smile on his opponent's face, Stiles assumed that the roll was not a good one.  


"I'll let you try again. Maybe your boy was distracted," the opponent said. David gave Stiles an accusatory look that sent a chill down his spine. He held his hand in front of Stiles' face and Stiles kissed his knuckles again, this time closing his eyes briefly, really making a show of focusing.  


"You better hope I win this," David hissed in Stiles' ear. Stiles felt a sudden urge to run, but he kept himself still in David's lap. David tossed the dice and, when they settled, the man across the table chuckled.  


"How unfortunate," the man said, feigning sympathy. "Better luck next time. Same day next week, perhaps?" He stood, stuffed David's cash in his pocket, and walked away.  


"Can't win 'em all, right?" Stiles smoothed David's tie with one hand, carding his fingers through David's hair with the other. "We can still spend time together out here, if you want?" David gripped Stiles' hair and wrenched his head back, exposing his neck, hard enough that his whole body twisted and he lost his balance. His knees crunched against the floor with fingers still viciously gripping his hair.  


"You fucking owe me," David snarled. Stiles could barely hear anything over the blood rushing through his ears.  


"Dude it's just a game - "  


"I bet everything I brought with me." David jerked Stiles' head so hard he felt a few hairs pop out. Tears welled up in his eyes and he grabbed at the hand on his head to lessen the pull.  


"That's not my fault!" Stiles' breath came in desperate gasps and he was met by the familiar feeling of the world spinning much too fast. _Oh god, no, not right now. Not out on the floor in front of customers._ A sharp slapping sound caught his attention and David let go of his hair. Stiles looked up to see a strawberry blonde angel and David holding his cheek.  


"You have thirty seconds to gather your things and leave or I will get the bouncers and the owner involved," Lydia stated, pursing her lips. David scrambled out of his chair and grabbed his coat, only to turn and spit on Stiles' face before scurrying out the door. _Fucking coward._ Stiles felt like there was no oxygen left in the building, in the entire world. His trembling hands were quickly turning to ice as he grabbed for Lydia. She hauled him up from the floor, pulled one of his arms over her shoulders, and rushed him towards the dressing room.  


“Please tell me nobody saw that,” Stiles gasped. She dropped him onto the couch and knelt beside it.  


"I don't think so." She smoothed his hair, talking softly. "Breathe, Stiles. In - " she waited, stroking his hair, and Stiles took one long, shaky inhale "and out." Stiles choked out a sob of a breath. "Again." She repeated this with him until he was no longer shaking and the tears on his cheeks were starting to dry. "You're okay, Stiles. You're alright."  


"Thank you. You know you don't have to - "  


"Shh. It's no problem. We take care of each other here, you know that." She planted a soft kiss on his cheek and sat on the couch, shoving his thighs out of the way. "Take the rest of the night off. I'll cover for you."  


"Lydia, you really don't have to." Stiles wiped at the dampness on his cheeks. "Just give me ten minutes and I'll be fine."  


"Nonsense." She patted his hip. "We need groceries. Go get changed, have a drink of water, and I'll meet you at the front door to vouch to the bouncers that you're allowed to leave."  


"What about Gerard? He'll tear a strip off me for taking the night off - " Stiles paused, " - and for leaving the house. He hates when I leave."  


"I'll deal with Gerard, you deal with groceries. Erica's been whining about raspberries for a week and I might choke her soon, so get raspberries."


	5. Chapter 5: Derek

Derek wandered down the pasta aisle, humming along to the eighty’s hits playing over the grocery store speakers. He hadn't intended to put off shopping ‘til so late at night, but a cliffhanger led into reading the sequel novel, and a quick text to his sister turned into an unpleasant hour-long phone call, and a quick walk to calm his nerves turned into a run, so he was late. It's not like he had a set schedule for the day, but he liked to keep things somewhat organized and on-time. He examined a box of some new pasta brand he saw an ad for on TV. A loud metallic crashing sound made him whirl around, only to come face-to-face with Stiles.  


"You forgot." Stiles seemed rather pleased with himself for scaring Derek out of his skin by crashing into his cart. Derek frowned. "You forgot! You said, no, you _promised_ you'd come talk to me after we closed last night!"  


"Shit," Derek breathed. He dropped the pasta back on the shelf. "I'm sorry, Stiles. I got sidetracked and then I just wanted to go straight home and completely forgot." Stiles made a face.  


"Sidetracked by what?" Stiles grabbed two packets of store-brand spaghetti and threw them in his cart.  


"It's nothing," Derek grumbled, turning to walk down the aisle.  


"Hey," Stiles called, "hey!" Derek just wanted to run. He had so much he needed to talk to Stiles about, and none of it was pleasant. For once, he didn't want to be around Stiles. He was halfway down the jars of curry sauce by the time Stiles caught up. "What the hell, dude?"  


"There's just a lot going on right now."  


"Yeah," Stiles scoffed, "I got that." They walked together quietly for a few seconds and Derek noticed one of the wheels on Stiles' cart squeaked. "Are you going to talk to me about it?" Derek sighed and shook his head. "Let me rephrase that. You _are_ going to talk to me about it." The corner of Derek's mouth ticked up. This guy, this ridiculous, bold, beautiful young man, was going to be the death of him.  


"Fine. Let me get you a coffee. We'll talk." They finished their grocery shopping together. Derek wanted to ask why Stiles was buying four packs of raspberries, but thought maybe he'd be better off not knowing. He tried his best to keep his eyes off Stiles, but couldn’t seem to help himself, fighting off the sound of Gerard’s voice in his head all the while. Derek loved the way Stiles looked in his civvies. All comfy jeans and loose graphic t-shirts and borderline-baggy plaid button-downs. It was a look he'd only gotten to see twice before, and Derek thought it suited Stiles so much more than tight shorts and body glitter.

\------------

"How do you not like caramel?"  


"I don't like it in my coffee because I want a coffee, not a dessert." Derek handed Stiles his paper cup and they found their way to a quiet table in the back of the Starbucks. Not that the place was particularly busy, most people weren't drinking coffee after eleven at night.  


"There's nothing wrong with a coffee-flavoured dessert in a cup, sometimes," Stiles pouted.  


"That's where you and I strongly disagree." Derek sipped at his latte - triple shot, venti - as he glared at Stiles sipping his abomination of a drink.  


"Der - " Stiles smiled, " – I can feel your stare burning a hole in my face. Is this going to be our first fight?"  


"It might be if you keep trying to pretend that you haven't destroyed the integrity of a perfectly good macchiato."  


"I'm not pretending anything. I fully acknowledge that this is super unnecessary and takes away from the _purity_ \- " Stiles air-quoted, rolling his eyes, " - but, Derek, it's caramel! Who doesn't like caramel?" Derek raised an eyebrow at him. "You. You doesn't like caramel." Derek nodded once and went back to focusing on his latte. Stiles cleared his throat. "So, what distracted you last night?" The smile Derek had been hiding behind his cup fell and he adjusted his glasses. Stiles had already made a couple jokes about them, having never seen Derek wearing glasses before. 'God, you look like a professor - a professor I might just go to for extra credit, mind you - and you have to admit that Professor Hale has a nice ring to it' Stiles had said while they waited in line to pay for their groceries. “C’mon, out with it.”  


"Gerard."  


"Ew." Stiles' smirk disappeared too. "What did that snake-man want?"  


"He wanted to talk to me," Derek stated, like that was the end of it. Stiles raised his eyebrows.  


"Thrilling story. Glad we got to talk about that, don't know what I would have done without that abundance of information." Stiles bobbed his head and waved a hand at Derek. "Come on, dude." Derek's lip twitched, anger rising in his throat.  


"He felt I was getting _unprofessionally close_ to you. Told me to back off."  


"What?" Stiles laughed, incredulous. "Seriously?" Derek nodded. "Derek," Stiles sighed, "fuck him. _Fuck_ him ten ways to Sunday. Get close to me.”

They talked shop for a while, made jokes about Erica and her obsession with body glitter and Danny's inclination towards extra fluffy pink feather boas. Derek loved the way Stiles laughed. Mouth open wide, head thrown back, hand resting on his stomach. He looked so much younger like this, unburdened by the cruelty of the world and the people in it. Stiles wiped away a tear from a particularly relentless fit of laughter.  


“So what got you into this line of work, anyway?” Derek’s cheeks ached, he hadn’t smiled this much in ages.  


“How does anyone get into it?” Stiles shrugged and sipped his coffee, his eyes fluttering shut – a moment of ecstasy from the taste of caramel, Derek assumed.  


“A passion for pleasure,” Derek guessed. Stiles scoffed.  


“Maybe for some people, but mine was more a passion for eating every once in a while, and sleeping somewhere other than the streets.” Stiles shrugged again. Derek tried to reel in the expression of shock making its way across his face. That wasn’t what he’d been expecting. “I used to want to go to school for journalism. Shit happened, was orphaned at fifteen, found my way into my first shitty brothel a year later and that was that.” Stiles was eyeing a magazine on another table. The headline read _‘Have We Found The Source Of The “WOW” Signal?’_. Derek had half a mind to bring it over just to watch Stiles read and soak in the information. He would catch Stiles flipping through Derek’s books sometimes, shoving them back into his messenger bag when he thought no-one was looking. Instead of being angry over the invasion of privacy and someone touching his stuff, Derek intentionally started bringing non-fiction books instead of his usual mystery novels so Stiles could learn the way he so clearly wanted to. Selfishly, Derek stayed seated. They hardly ever got to be alone together, and Derek figured Stiles could read a magazine any other time. “I think I’m kind of stuck with this job now, though. It kind of sucks, but what can you do, right?”  


“Well – ” Derek raised an eyebrow, “ – you could go to school for journalism?”  


“Yeah, okay, I’ll get right on that. Me and my double-digit IQ, off to college with our abundance of cash.” Stiles rolled his eyes, something akin to amusement quirking up the corners of his mouth but not meeting his eyes. “It’s fine, it’s just kind of a bummer. I never expected my future to be so dark.”  


“Dark?” Derek wanted to argue regarding the IQ comment, but held his tongue.  


“As dim as the lighting in the back rooms, my friend,” Stiles chuckled. “Alright,” he sighed, "you wanted to talk to me." Derek shifted in his seat, straightening his posture. 

“What’s up?” Derek took a deep breath, not sure if he was ready to say it out loud.  


“My mom is sick.”  


“Oh shit, Der, I'm so sorry.” Stiles reached across the small table and gingerly rested his fingers on Derek's wrist. “Is she going to be okay?”  


"No - " Derek shook his head slowly, - "we don't think she will be this time." He picked at the paper sleeve on his cup. "Osteosarcoma. She'd had cancer before, actually went into remission, she held me up so we could ring the bell after her last chemo treatment together and everything. It came back with a vengeance though.” He frowned and scratched at his beard. “PET scan just – ” Derek splayed his fingers beside his face quickly, “ – everywhere. It found her lungs.”  


“Shit,” Stiles breathed. He curled his fingers around Derek's wrist and stroked the back of his hand with a gentle thumb. “Are you okay?” Derek shrugged.  


“I guess. Some days, yes. Some days, no. It's not like it was a surprise but it's hard. It sounds childish but it feels totally – ”  


“Unfair?” Stiles was looking down at where his hand was touching Derek.  


“Yeah, exactly,” Derek whispered, brows furrowed, inspecting Stiles' face.  


“My mom died when I was ten. Dad drank himself to death five years later over her.” Stiles' lips tensed a moment and suddenly he looked older again. “Frontotemporal dementia. It sucks. I'm really sorry this is happening. I know it doesn’t make a difference when someone says they’re sorry, because ‘sorry’ doesn’t keep them around, but I am.” Derek thought he almost looked lost now, like Stiles wasn't staring at his hand on Derek’s wrist but was watching a memory that had been tucked away for a long time. “It's hard to watch someone you love slip away day by day like that. Through your fingers like sand, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.” He shook his head and his whiskey eyes met Derek's. “I'm so sorry you're having to go through this.” Derek's throat was tightening quickly. He hadn't cried over his mom's inevitable death since she came home with the diagnosis.  


“I have a little sister,” Derek choked out. “Our dad works out of state a lot, and our older sister lives in South America. I'm worried she won't handle it very well, she’s only sixteen.” Stiles gave his wrist a squeeze. Derek felt like this was one of those rare moments that Stiles couldn't find words - or maybe even one of the rarer moments he knew words wouldn't make a difference. “I mean, I'm barely handling it. I can't imagine how Cora's feeling.” Tears burned Derek's eyes and he looked down at his coffee, like somehow it was offending him. “I'm sorry to dump all of this on you.”  


"Don't be sorry. That is literally, of all the things to possibly be sorry about in all the world, the last thing you'd ever need to be sorry about.” Stiles gave him a weak but reassuring smile. His gaze darted over Derek's shoulder. “Shit. Is that really the time? Shit! It's so late, it's so, so late.” Stiles chugged the last of his coffee and rushed towards the door, dragging Derek out the door by the hand. “Gerard is going to kill me. He's going to keep me alive, to make him money, but he is going to find a way to keep me alive and _kill_ me at the same time. _Shit!_ ”  


“I'll see you tomorrow, Stiles.” Derek waved to the lanky young man running to a beaten up old sedan on the other side of the parking lot. Pulling his keys out of his pocket, he smiled to himself. Never in a million years did he think he'd get to sit down for coffee with Stiles. The only way it could have gone better was if it lasted longer. He didn't even mind that Stiles liked 'coffee flavoured-desserts in a cup'. He hadn't gotten to tell Stiles everything he'd meant to, but surely there'd be another time for that. As he opened the door to his Camaro, arms wrapped around him from behind.  


"Thanks for coffee," Stiles mumbled into the back of Derek's knitted sweater. Derek held onto the backs of Stiles' hands, not really able to reach anywhere else, but enjoying the feeling of Stiles' face pressed against his back nonetheless. "Okay," Stiles sighed, "I really do have to go now but I couldn't leave without saying thanks." Derek patted Stiles' hand and the arms disappeared from around him. He slipped into the driver's seat and gripped the steering wheel tight, grinning ear to ear.


	6. Chapter 6: Stiles

The house was just closing up when Stiles slipped into the back-door entrance, struggling to carry eight bags of groceries because he would be damned if he admitted defeat and made _two_ trips. He unloaded the bags onto the kitchen counter and began putting everything away, Erica's raspberries front and center so there was no way she could miss them. For Lydia's sake, mostly. As he put away the last can of soup, he felt a presence behind him.  


"Where have you been?" Gerard glowered at him from the doorway.  


"Groceries," Stiles deadpanned, gesturing to the open fridge full of food.  


"Groceries don't take two hours."  


"Sure they do," Stiles countered, gesturing more enthusiastically to the very packed fridge, "this is a lot of things to pull off shelves, you know."  


"Groceries do not take two hours," Gerard said steadily, "and even if they did, the authorized payment on my credit card says you were done an hour ago." He waved his phone in the air before stuffing it back in his pocket. Stiles had forgotten that Gerard got a notification every time something was put on the house's card. "So, I'll ask again." Gerard stepped into Stiles' space. Stiles could smell mint gum he was chewing. "Where have you been?"  


"Went for coffee," Stiles mumbled. Gerard grabbed the collar of Stiles' shirt, closing the space between them.  


"Speak clearly, Stiles."  


"I went for coffee," Stiles barked. Gerard clenched his jaw and lifted Stiles to his tiptoes. Stiles could feel Gerard's breath on his face. "Derek took me for coffee. I ran into him at the grocery store." Gerard let go and Stiles fell backwards against the counter.  


"There, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Gerard straightened Stiles' plaid button-down. Stiles shook his head. "You aren't going to see him again. Do you understand?" Stiles stayed as still as he could, willing every single one of his muscles to not shake, not show fear.  


"No. I have a life, you know," he said softly, averting his eyes. Gerard chuckled and shook his head.  


“Your life is letting strangers fuck your twink ass so you have a roof over your head and food in your belly. Don’t confuse Derek trying to get your services for free as some sort of romantic gesture.”  


"What? That's not... he wouldn't..." Stiles groaned loudly and threw his arms out dramatically. "Derek's not like that. He actually likes me. You should be nicer to me, old man. I can leave any time I want."  


"No, you really can't," Gerard chortled, smiling.  


"Uh, yes, I really can. You don't own me." Stiles didn't have time to even flinch before Gerard's fist slammed against the side of his face. Stiles stumbled and fell to the cold linoleum floor, clutching his eye. Gerard crouched beside him and lifted him halfway off the floor by his collar.  


"It may not be written down, but you belong to me, Stiles. Nobody else would have you, that's why you were sent to me. You’re a useless whore with a bad attitude, and nothing more. Do you really think Derek likes you? He’s taking pity on you, using you. You’re nothing in his eyes. He's just trying to get a free fuck." Stiles' bottom lip quivered.  


"Derek's not like that," he stammered.  


"Oh, but he is." The smile hadn't left Gerard's face. It sent a shiver down Stiles’ spine. "Did he tell you a sob story to get you to soften up? Make you feel like you had some sort of _connection_? He made Erica feel like they had a connection too, you know. Found them in the dressing room one night on that couch you're so fond of only a couple weeks before I took you in."  


"But he likes me," Stiles whispered. He had thought so, at least. His bottom lip trembled and he begged his eyes to stay dry.  


"Does he? He's leaving you here, Stiles. He handed me his two-week notice yesterday before the shift started." Gerard let go of Stiles' collar, dropping him back to the floor. "He's going back to California to start his teaching career. A respectable move, wouldn't you say?" Stiles wanted to pull away as Gerard smoothed his hair and straightened his collar again. "He has a future. Let him have his future, Stiles. Don’t hold him back. Your future is here in this house, getting fucked brainless until you’re not pretty enough to turn a profit. You know that, don’t you? Be honest with yourself. What kind of self-respecting man like Derek would ever want a slut like you?" Gerard stood up and stalked out of the room, leaving Stiles to gather himself and his slowly breaking heart up off the kitchen floor.

Stiles wanted to believe Gerard was wrong, or even better, had just been lying. However, curiosity got the better of him and he just _happened_ to find his way to Gerard’s office at five in the morning. Somehow a couple of Lydia’s bobby pins also just _happened_ to fiddle with the lock like he’d read how to do in a criminology textbook he’d borrowed from Derek’s bag. Suddenly, he wished he had never read that chapter. Stiles held the evidence in his hand that Gerard hadn’t lied about at least one thing. Derek’s two-week notice had been tucked away in a drawer of the big oak desk. His fingers shook and he tried to bite down the anger and feelings of abandonment rising quickly in his throat. He shoved the notice back into the desk and fled to his room, collapsing on his squeaky bed. The more Stiles stared at the ceiling and let the thoughts swirl around, the more it made sense. Derek’s mom was _dying_ and he hadn’t even shed a tear when he talked about it. It was an excellent sob story, true or false, and what better way to connect with someone who lost their mom during childhood than to talk about your own dying mother? Stiles rolled over in bed and picked at a bump in the paint on the cool wall. Erica had been very friendly with Derek when Stiles first started working. He’d just assumed Erica was trying to make an unsuccessful move, but Stiles realized no other employees were warned with nearly as much frequency to ‘keep their hands of the merchandise’ as Derek. It all made sense, and Stiles hated Gerard for it.

At seven thirty, Stiles ripped his sheets off and padded down the hall to Erica’s room. He let himself in. They weren’t allowed locks on their doors.  


"Erica," Stiles hissed. She didn't stir. He gently nudged her shoulder. She snorted and rolled over. "Erica," he repeated, this time with more vocal tone. She made a sound and he nudged her again. Finally, her head jolted up, all of her blonde curls bobbing as she looked around the room.  


"Stiles?"  


"Yeah, hi, it's me." He tapped a toe and crossed his arms, trying to keep from bursting.  


"What's happening? Did I sleep through my alarm?" She rubbed her eyes, still darkened from last night's makeup, propping herself up on an elbow.  


"No, nothing like that. Nothing's happening. It's, like, seven in the morning." Stiles rubbed at the back of his neck. She glared at him. "You can go back to sleep in a second, I just, um, I have a question?" She tilted her head but didn't turn away. "Did you ever have sex with Derek?"  


"Derek?" She looked up to the ceiling, as if she had a myriad of faces to connect with names taped up there.  


"The singer."  


"Oh." Her face relaxed and she collapsed back onto her bed. "Yeah, like a week before you got here." A wry smile curled her lips. "He was good, too. I actually enjoyed myself for a change, didn’t even charge him." Stiles felt like the floor was crumbling beneath him.  


"Thanks," Stiles huffed, "sorry for waking you up." He nodded, more to himself than anything, before whirling around and stumbling his way back into his room, the world feeling like it was crumbling beneath his feet.

Nothing had been a lie. It twisted something deep in Stiles' gut. It left his mouth dry and eyes burning. Gerard had been right about everything. He was right about Derek trying to get a free fuck, probably right about letting Derek have a future, too. Derek was going to be a teacher, was going to have a beautiful white-picket-fence life, probably find a wife and have kids, buy a red sports car sometime in his fifties, and completely forget about the call house and everything that went with it - Stiles included. After tonight, he was sure that Derek wouldn't want to mix up his bright, sunshine-filled future with Stiles. Stiles, whose future was darker than the back alleys he used to sleep in.


	7. Chapter 7: Derek

Derek practically skipped into the call house. He'd barely been able to sleep from the excitement over having coffee with Stiles - funny, compassionate, _beautiful_ Stiles - but he had more energy than he’d felt in weeks. He turned into the dressing room, stepping into the flurry of feather boas and puffs of makeup powder and people stretching against walls. As expected, Stiles was at his mirror next to Lydia. He was wearing tight jeans, some sort of leather strap and metal ring contraption over his bare torso, and fingerless leather gloves. Derek grinned widely at Stiles through the reflection. Stiles flashed a less-than-friendly smirk and carried on applying a dark layer of eyeliner. Something didn't feel right.  


"Hey, you okay?" Derek reached out and squeezed Stiles' bare shoulder, making sure his fingertips didn't wander any lower than Stiles' collar bone.  


"Fine, Derek." Stiles capped the eyeliner and began on his hair. "How are you?"  


"I'm good, thanks." Derek's stomach tightened at what felt like Stiles shrugging his hand off. "Is something wrong?"  


"No," Stiles huffed, "everything's fine. Everything's exactly how it should be." Derek wanted to wrap his arms around Stiles, or shake him and demand he spit out what was bugging him. This was not the Stiles he knew, not the same person he'd been falling for since the day they met. "Did you want something?" Stiles cocked an eyebrow. Derek wanted to ask what the hell he was hiding, wanted to ask what he meant by the emphasis on the word ‘want’, wanted to kiss him and hold him and make him smile.  


"Um, n-no," Derek stammered, "just wanted to say hi. Sorry." Stiles nodded curtly and focused on his hair, his lips in a straight line and jaw tense. Derek went to the stage early, aimlessly wandering and fixing things that didn't need fixing. He moved the mic stand a couple inches to the left, he turned the piano to be more parallel with the stage's edge, he sat and wracked his brain for something he could have said or done wrong without having any contact with Stiles. He came up blank.

\------------

Derek tried to smile at Stiles from the stage, tried to shoot him a wink here and there when he sang a particularly affectionate line, but Stiles wasn’t even looking at him. Normally he could cope with watching Stiles crawl on top of strangers and lead them through the curtains, but it was impossible not to feel the burn of jealousy without their stolen glances and secret language of eye-rolls and subdued laughs. At one point, Derek even had to skip singing a verse because the sight of Stiles kissing someone else made his throat tense. A band member suggested that Stiles just needed some space, but Derek thought that couldn’t be it. Stiles certainly hadn’t needed space last night when his face was pressed between Derek’s shoulder blades. Derek hopped off the stage and strode towards Lydia during a break.  


"What's wrong with Stiles?" Derek crossed his arms, using all his strength not to look over at Stiles who was curled up on a red velvet chair across the room.  


"Not sure." She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against arm of the couch. Derek thought she was trying to look nonchalant but he knew she was exhausted. "I asked him earlier and he told me nothing. He asked me not to push, so I didn't. Maybe if you think something's wrong, you should talk to him."  


"Thanks." Derek turned on his heel and hopped back onto the stage. He wanted to yell at her. Did she really think he hadn't tried talking already? Hell, half the time the only person he ever wanted to talk to was Stiles. For all his rambling, and all of Derek's eye-rolling, Stiles was the only person Derek thought he could listen to all day.

\------------

Derek waited on the couch behind Stiles in the dressing room. Stiles ignored him but was laughing and chatting with Lydia like nothing was different, like the tension between them hadn’t turned from excited to sour overnight. It made Derek's chest ache. Lydia was cleaning off his makeup with a large cotton pad and Derek caught Stiles' reflection. A red and purple bruise formed a half moon on his upper cheek, near his eye. Derek wanted to grab Stiles' face and kiss it better, then demand to know what happened. Before he could even make a move, Stiles was zipping up a hoodie, waving goodnight to Lydia, and heading out the door. He didn't even look Derek's way. Derek stood and left the dressing room, taking a right towards Gerard's office, resisting the urge to turn left to follow Stiles. He knocked on the door, politely at first. When he didn't get an answer, he pounded against the wood. Gerard opened the door with a friendly smile.  


"Derek, how lovely to see you."  


"Can we talk?" Derek was already pushing his way in past Gerard.  


"Of course. Is something wrong?" Gerard's smile had faded.  


"Did something happen to Stiles? Did a customer get out of hand?" Derek tried to calm himself. His heart was racing and something akin to desperation was spinning around in his mind.  


"Not as far as I'm aware," Gerard shook his head and looked around the room, like he might find answers written on the walls. "What would make you think that?"  


"He has a bruise." Derek gestured to his cheek. Gerard chuckled.  


"A bruise? On Stiles? That's hardly cause for concern, son. This is Stiles we're talking about. Do you know how much focus the boy has to put into just staying upright on the floor? He probably tripped over his own feet." Gerard clapped a hand on Derek's shoulder and gently pushed him towards the door.  


"He's not right, though," Derek said weakly.  


"Not right?"  


"He's just not acting like himself. He's not even talking to me." Derek's lip twitched and he held his breath. Gerard sighed and shook his head, clicking his tongue quietly.  


"Oh, Derek, did you really expect him to stay interested forever?" Gerard squeezed his hand on Derek's shoulder. Derek shrugged. Yes, at least… he'd hoped. "These whores don’t have real feelings. I’m sorry if he made you feel special and now you’re hurt, but that’s his job. That's all he knows how to do. Make men feel special to get something out of them."  


"He wouldn't just stop talking to me like that, though."  


"Are you sure about that? Did you give him something, Derek? A gift, or a treat, maybe?"  


"I bought him coffee," Derek whispered, eyes going wide. Gerard shook his head, a look of pity settling on his face.  


"What a shame. He’s had his fun with you and now he’s done," Gerard said soothingly. "That's what Stiles does, what they all do. They don’t even know how to feel real things for other people anymore. They’re barely even people themselves. Don’t get your little heart broken over a whore.”  


“He couldn’t just fake liking me like that,” Derek breathed. He wasn’t even really talking to Gerard. Just trying to convince himself out loud.  


“Of course he could,” Gerard scoffed. “I know you’ve watched him work. He makes those customers feel like they’re the only two people in the entire world, then once he’s got his money and finishes his job, he acts like they’ve never even met.” Derek frowned, trying to deny to himself the similarities. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed the way he smiles at you over their shoulders, giving you the attention they think he’s giving them. Have you ever wondered if he’s smiling at someone else over your shoulder, Derek?”  


“I…”  


“It’s alright.” Gerard guided him gently towards the office door again. “Don’t feel ashamed. He’s so very good at faking a connection, at making a man feel special. It’s not your fault he tricked you. Go home and get some rest.” Derek left the office and went straight to his car. The parallels were almost too clear. Sure, maybe Stiles had been playing the long-game, but it was ultimately the same. Cozy up, fake a connection, get something he wanted out of his target, and then pretend they were strangers again. Derek huffed loudly and gripped his steering wheel. He peeled out of the parking lot.


	8. Chapter 8: Stiles

Stiles felt like part of him was dying more and more every day. He checked in with himself, it wasn't just a melodramatic statement, he _really_ did feel like an empty space was carving itself out in his heart. He had stayed strong in his resolve to not talk to Derek. _God_ , how badly he just wanted to fucking talk to Derek. The past few nights, he'd wrapped his arms around his pillow and pushed his cheek into it. It didn't feel like Derek's warm back against his face, it didn't feel like Derek's body in his arms. It was killing him. Derek seemed to be doing alright, though, and for that Stiles could be happy. That was the whole point, right? Protect himself and let Derek have his bright future all at once. The chemistry between them, the fire that seemed to light up the room, had turned to thick, cold tension and it made Stiles want to scream.  


"Derek, a word," Gerard said from the dressing room door before disappearing back into the hall.  


"Oh," Stiles grumbled while combing his hair, "I'd have more than a word for you, you absolute lizard." He hadn't noticed Derek was still behind him. A smile curled the corners of Derek's mouth and Stiles wanted to cry. Making Derek smile was still one of his favourite things. _Damn it_.  


"Still think he's a dick?" Derek raised an eyebrow.  


"I still think calling him the fucking antichrist would be a brutal and unnecessary insult towards the actual antichrist." Stiles bit the inside of his cheek. He hadn't meant to reply, he had meant to sneer at Derek's reflection and keep making himself presentable for the customers. Derek was nodding slowly, smiling still, though Stiles thought for a moment that his smile seemed to be lacking its usual light. "You should go."  


"Yeah," Derek sighed. "See you out there."  


"Yeah," Stiles breathed. _Don't get your hopes up_ , he reminded himself. _Don't think for half a second you could have him, or that he'd want you_.

\------------

Lydia played with Stiles' hair while there was a lull in customers. He didn't relax into her hands like he usually did. Derek didn't hop off the stage to chat like he usually did, either, just kept performing for customers not even on the floor. It all felt so, so wrong. Gerard snapped his fingers over by the curtain. Stiles got up off the floor, almost glad for an excuse to not be in the same room as Derek.  


"Customer."  


"Where?" Stiles smoothed his hair.  


"Room two. He wants someone submissive." Gerard pointed through the curtain and Stiles went down the hall, taking a deep breath before opening the door to a room decorated in far too much red and brass. Stiles always thought the rooms were so tacky, except room twelve at the end of the hall, but that was almost solely reserved for Lydia. The customer was handsome enough, even with the sadistic smile already plastered on his face. Stiles tried to get a name out of him.  


"You can call me Master," the man said, trying to maintain an air of calm, but Stiles could see the excitement practically burning him alive behind the eyes. Stiles did his best to play the part of a submissive, though it had always been hard for him not to top from the bottom, especially when someone was making a poor attempt at being dominant. He let the man bend him over the edge of the bed. Felt the man pushing inside of him. Not enough warm-up, not enough lube. It fucking hurt. If this guy wanted submissive, Stiles would just go brainless. He strained his ears to listen to Derek singing. His voice was beautiful as ever and Stiles allowed one tear to escape and soak into the red silk sheet his face was being pushed down into. He felt his body being rocked, but didn't pay it much attention. Closing his eyes, he recalled memories of Derek hiding his smile behind a paper coffee cup, of how Derek's body felt wrapped in his arms, the warmth in Derek’s eyes when they were alone. It felt like he was suffocating on his own memories. He wasn't sure whether it was worse to pay attention to them, or to the stranger using his body. Somehow, he managed to hold it together until the customer was done and had left the room. Finally, Stiles collapsed in on himself, letting sobs choke him and shake his entire body. It was near the end of the shift. Nobody would notice if he slipped off to his room early, right? He fled to his room, slamming the lock-free door behind him, and flung himself onto the bed. He'd barely been there ten minutes when the door cracked open and Gerard was standing in the middle of his room, arms crossed.  


"If you keep disappearing part-way through the night, you're going to end up costing me more than you're worth."  


"I'll work extra hard tomorrow," Stiles sniffled into his pillow.  


"Yes, you will. And you will continue working hard tonight. Get up," Gerard instructed. Stiles shook his head, nose rubbing against his tear-soaked pillow case. "Get. Up." Stiles hiccupped on a sob and his back bowed with it. "You useless little - " Gerard wrapped his arms around Stiles' body and yanked him out of bed, not even making sure Stiles had his feet under him before letting go. "Get out there and earn your keep. Remember the reason you're here."  


"No one else will have me," Stiles recited. He remembered the way Gerard said it when he was first hired, glee and disgust both dripping off his tongue with every word, like he knew Stiles would be a handful but would make him an obscene amount of money. He'd been right on both counts.  


"Just let me have the rest of the night off," Stiles mumbled, shoulders rolled inward and arms wrapped around his naked chest.  


"Get out there, Stiles. Now,” Gerard said sternly. Stiles didn’t move.  


“But – ”  


“Now!”  


"Okay!" The volume of Stiles' voice shocked them both. More himself than Gerard, who took a fistful of Stiles' hair and tilted his head back and down so far that Stiles had to bend at the knees.  


"You will not raise your voice to me again." Gerard's breath reeked of cigarettes. Stiles wanted to bite his nose off. "Do you understand?"  


"One day I'm going to quit," Stiles hissed. Gerard let out a sarcastic laugh and threw Stiles by his hair back onto his bed.  


"Like you have enough brain cells to rub together to find work doing anything else." Gerard dropped his hands onto the bed on either side of Stiles' legs. "You couldn't make it out there. You can't make it without me, boy. No matter what you do, you will always end up back here, in this house, working for me. Don't you let yourself forget that for half a second.” Gerard stood up straight and Stiles suddenly felt incredibly small. He hadn't even gotten his GED. Gerard was right. "Clean off your face and get back out there."

\------------

Lydia wiped off Stiles' makeup for him, even though it was mostly all gone from his earlier melt-down anyway. She was tender around the area with the bruise. Stiles wasn't sure if she knew how he got it, though he felt she had an idea. Lydia always seemed to know everything that was happening in the house, somehow. Stiles theorized magic.  


"You'll be okay without him, you know." Lydia, satisfied with her work on Stiles, turned to start removing her own makeup.  


"Without who?"  


"Stiles, please don't act like I'm totally blind," she chastised. Stiles shrugged. "Derek, obviously," Lydia sighed, rolling her eyes. "I know you had – have – a thing for him."  


"It's that obvious?" Stiles cringed and pulled a loose graphic tee over his head.  


"You may as well have it tattooed on your forehead," she chuckled. Shit. "You'll be fine without him. He's not that great." Stiles was dumbstruck for a moment, then thought of telling her she had no taste in men if she didn't think Derek was amazing.  


"You're right." Stiles watched Derek's reflection walk behind him through his mirror. "He's not that great." The words felt like acid in his mouth.  


"I'm going to go to bed." Lydia patted Stiles' knee. "Want to come cuddle for a bit?" He considered it. Lydia was a fantastic cuddler, and a kind touch would be so welcome. His eye was caught by Derek's reflection again. This time he watched Derek sit on the couch. Stiles tried to fight the mental image of him having sex with Erica on it.  


"I might join you later, I still have to decompress a little." Stiles smiled and Lydia nodded. Soon, Stiles and Derek were the only people left in the dressing room. Stiles wasn't sure why he'd done it. If anything, he was pissed at Derek and hurt, the last thing he should want is to be alone with the guy. The more Stiles thought about it, the more the idea was cemented in his mind that Derek had just been using him. The pieces all seemed to fit. He was so frustrated and caught up in his own thoughts he didn't see Derek stand and walk up right behind his seat.  


"Can we talk?" Derek's hand twitched at his side. Stiles wanted to reach out and grab it, kiss each knuckle and beg for Derek to let him be a part of his future. He didn't.  


"What about?"  


"Whatever the hell this – " Derek waved a hand between the two of them, " – is. Whatever's happened between us."  


"There's nothing to talk about, really. Sometimes people get what they want out of another person, sometimes they don't, and that's that." Stiles felt a lump forming in his throat. Derek looked like he'd been punched in the gut. "I have to go." Stiles was halfway out the door when Derek found his voice again.  


"Just give me a fucking minute - "  


"If you want a minute, you'll have to pay for it like everyone else, Der," Stiles sneered. He stormed down the hall and headed straight for Lydia's room where she was waiting with open arms, a bowl of popcorn, and a movie Stiles knew she didn't choose for herself. _Magic_.


	9. Chapter 9: Derek

_'Sometimes people get what they want out of another person, sometimes they don't, and that's that.'  
_

_'Did you give him something, Derek? A gift, or a treat, maybe? What a shame. He’s had his fun with you and now he’s done.'_  


It was all Derek could think of. For the first time in all the months Derek had worked at the call house, he was making an active effort to keep his eyes off Stiles. It all made sense, but he didn't want it to. He couldn't believe that Stiles would do all that, would fake a connection like that for so long, just to get some attention and a coffee. There was a break in customers, surprisingly early for the night, and Derek was at his mic stand, holding it, swaying with it. Not singing, not listening to the piano playing softly, just lost in his own world. For once, Derek wasn't totally upset that Stiles was off in a room somewhere with a customer.  


"Hey," the pianist hissed from across the stage, waving Derek over. Derek slouched across the stage. "What's up? You sound off today."  


"Off key?" Derek's hand flew instinctively to his throat, as if he'd find a reason for it.  


"No, like no passion. Like your heart's not in it." The pianist looked concerned, and Derek thought maybe in another life he was someone he'd be comfortable confiding in, but how do you tell someone you've barely spoken to that your heart's not in the music simply because your heart is with a boy who’s getting fucked by a stranger in a gaudily decorated room, refusing to talk to you? How do you tell them, to top it off, that your mom's days are numbered and you're about to move home to watch her die and take on the responsibility of raising a sibling?  


"Just distracted," Derek said. "Thanks for the concern though." He patted the pianist’s back and returned to his mic stand. It had been almost a week since he went for coffee with Stiles, and it was killing him that he didn't know what changed overnight. Derek wanted to sit down and talk it all out, lay all his cards out on the table. He hadn't even gotten to tell Stiles he was leaving. He only had eight days left.

Finally, the last customer was taken to a back room and the front doors were locked so nobody new could come in. Derek turned off his mic and hopped off the stage, landing hard on the wood floor. He was doing his honest-to-god best to ignore the sounds of sex coming from all the back rooms when the sound of shattering glass cut through the air. It had come from the last room on the left. Derek ran down the rest of the way and burst through the door, not even thinking about what he might be walking into. Stiles was naked and pinned by his throat to a broken mirror, a trickle of blood trailing down the glass. The hand around his neck flexed and Stiles tried to drag a breath in, wheezing, clawing at the customer's hand. The man was screaming in Stiles' face, and Derek could see the spit flying and landing on mole-spotted cheeks.  


"Hey," Derek said calmly. The man kept yelling. Stiles' face was turning red, and ugly, crackling sounds of choked-off breath were becoming quieter. "Hey!" Derek took two long steps and threw his fist into the man's face. He stumbled sideways and Stiles collapsed to his knees, gasping desperately for air.  


"You can't hit a customer," the man roared, trying to get back onto his feet.  


"I just did, and I'll do it again," Derek said coolly. "Get the fuck out." The man looked like he was going to say something, so Derek cut him off. "No refunds and, trust me, you'll want to leave. The bouncers aren't as kind as me." He crouched down beside Stiles. The man shuffled past them, grumbling unintelligibly. "Come on," Derek coaxed, "let's fix you up."  


"Thank you," Stiles rasped, still rubbing at his throat. Derek nodded.  


"What happened?" His hands were hovering over Stiles' shoulder and waist, not sure he was allowed to touch, especially considering Stiles’ state of complete undress, guiding him to the dressing room.  


"I don't even - " Stiles coughed, " - I'm not even sure. I think he wanted to bottom and I didn't understand or - " he coughed again. Derek handed him a dressing gown off a wall hook.  


"You should get that checked out." Derek gestured to his throat and Stiles tied wrapped the dressing gown around himself.  


"Can't leave the house,” Stiles groaned, rolling his eyes. He reached up and touched the back of his head and Derek opened his mouth to ask why he couldn’t leave. “Shit,” Stiles spat out, looking at his fingers glistening red.  


“Where’s the first aid kit?”  


“In the kitchen,” Stiles said. Derek started to leave. “Derek wait,” Stiles called, “you can’t go back there! Gerard said nobody but him and the workers!”  


“Fuck Gerard, Stiles. Fuck him ten ways to Sunday.” For the first time that night, a smile tugged at Derek’s lips. He thought he saw Stiles fighting a smile too before he slipped out the door and down to the hall. The kitchen was big, much bigger than Derek had expected. Despite his nonchalance regarding Gerard, he was still nervous. What would happen if he was caught? Would they really fire him a week before he was leaving anyway? Derek pulled cupboard door after cupboard door open, searching for the first aid kit. Finally, tucked way behind an unnecessary amount of pots and pans, he found a small white box with a red cross on it. He rushed back down the hallway, feeling like he'd just gotten away with some daring heist.  


"Hey, you found it!" Stiles' eyes lit up. "Was starting to get worried that you'd been caught."  


"Yeah." Derek sat in Lydia's chair beside Stiles. "Always the last place you look, right?"  


"Well, duh, why would you keep looking after you find it?" He was smiling, just a little, and Derek felt an overwhelming urge to kiss him. Instead, he smiled in return and rifled through the small kit, pulling out a tiny bottle of hydrogen peroxide and packages of sterile cotton pads. Stiles grabbed the bottle, turning it over in his fingers. "What is this, a peroxide bottle for ants?" Derek gave in and let his smirk win. Stiles' smile grew. Wasn't this how it was supposed to be between them?  


"Alright, hand it over."  


"No!" Stiles clutched the bottle to his chest. "It's going to hurt!"  


"An infection will be worse," Derek said. He reached out and pulled Stiles' hands open, ignoring the electricity in his fingers where they touched Stiles' pale skin. Stiles' face fell and he gave in easily, not even fighting for the bottle. Derek ripped open one of the cotton pads and soaked it with peroxide. Stiles hissed at the burn when Derek pressed it to the open skin. Eventually, the cut stopped bleeding and Derek helped Stiles clean up the back of his neck, being even more gentle than Lydia was around the bruise on Stiles' face. 

"There. Done."  


"Thank you," Stiles breathed, moving to touch the cut. Derek smacked his hand. "Hey!" Derek raised his eyebrows. "Fine. No touching." Danny and Lydia wandered into the dressing room and Derek stood, knowing that the last place he wanted to be was in Lydia's way. Erica came through the door and Derek's shoulders tensed. He didn't know why he slept with her in his first week. He hoped Stiles would never find out. It hadn't meant anything, he'd just been caught up in the energy of the place, and Stiles hadn't even been hired yet. She trailed a finger across his shoulders as she passed. Derek was tempted to lash out, swat her hand away, but he did nothing. When he turned back, Stiles’ face was stone, not a hint of playful smile or gratitude left. Panic rose in Derek’s throat and swirled around in his head. _No, not again, things were just starting to feel right!_  


“Stiles – ” Derek squeezed Stiles’ bare shoulder, always so careful not to let his fingertips go lower than his collar bone, “ – can we talk, please? Alone?”  


“Thank you for your help, don’t think for one second I don’t appreciate what you did.” Stiles stood, shrugging Derek’s hand off. Derek felt a scream rising in his throat. “But if you want alone time with me, you’ll have to pay for it.” With that, Stiles walked out, leaving Derek feeling abandoned in the middle of a room that suddenly seemed much too large.

\------------

At the end of Derek’s last shift, there was cake waiting for him in the dressing room. Lydia gave him a tight squeeze of a hug, Danny hung off him like a monkey, Erica fluttered her lashes at him from across the room, and the other workers whose names he never got around to memorizing gave him handshakes and well-wishes. Stiles didn’t stick around. He looked at Derek with tears in his eyes, spat out a ‘good luck with your future’, and went to the back of the house where he knew Derek couldn’t follow. _It wasn’t supposed to end like this_ , Derek thought, _it wasn’t supposed to end at all_. He had never even gotten the chance to tell Stiles he was leaving. Derek’s phone buzzed in his pocket while he chewed on a bite of cake. His little sister’s name lit up the screen and his heart sank. It was too late at night to be a casual call.  


“Be back in a minute,” he said to no-one in particular, turning down the hallway. He answered his phone before dropping onto the stairs of the back entrance to the stage, his hands shaking. “Cora? What’s wrong?” Cora’s sniffles made his head spin.  


“You’re coming back, right?” Cora sounded so young, it made Derek’s heart ache. “Because one day she’ll be gone and dad’s always gone and Laura may as well be gone and uncle Peter _hates_ me – ”  


“Uncle Peter does not hate you.” Derek felt guilty that he was relieved. This wasn’t how he expected this phone call to go. “And yes, I’m coming back. I’ll be on the road first thing in the morning.”  


“Mom says it’ll take you two days to drive,” she sniffled.  


“She’s right, but I’ll try and make it a day and a half, okay?” His pulse was steadying again. Mom was still alive and awake.  


“Okay.”  


“I’ll take you out for dinner as soon as I get back,” Derek suggested.  


“Ice cream,” Cora corrected. “You still owe me ice cream from last summer.”  


“Ice cream it is,” Derek chuckled. “I have to go, but I’ll call you when I’m on my way out tomorrow.”  


“Love you, Derek.”  


“Love you too, Cora.” He hung up and returned to the dressing room. “Alright guys, I’m going to head home,” Derek announced, swinging his messenger bag over his shoulder. He pulled a rolled-up magazine from inside of it and handed it to Lydia. “Give this to Stiles, please.” She unrolled it and read the cover.  


“What’s a wow signal?”  


“Read it and find out, but give it to Stiles after,” Derek shouted over his shoulder.  


“Will do,” Lydia called after him as he turned out of the dressing room door. Derek walked down the hall for the last time, through the curtains for the last time, past the red velvet couches and stage for the last time, and reached for the front door. The sound of Gerard’s voice on the other side stopped him, frozen with his fingertips on the handle. It was a one-sided conversation. No, a phone call. ‘Not an issue anymore,’ he heard Gerard say, ‘the singer’s leaving.’ Gerard laughed in response to something the person on the phone said. ‘He practically handed me the ammo, all I had to do was shoot.’  


“What?” _No_. Derek couldn’t help but think it sounded suspiciously like Gerard had orchestrated his and Stiles’ falling out. _There’s no way_. It made sense. _How could he have managed it?_ Adrenaline made his head spin as pieces started to fall into place. Derek took a step back when Gerard pulled the door open.  


“On your way out, Derek?” Gerard slipped his phone and lighter back into his pocket.  


“Yes.”  


“It’s been lovely working with you, don’t be a stranger!”  


“I won’t be,” Derek said, doing his best imitation of a friendly smile. He pushed past the old man and headed to his car.


	10. Chapter 10: Stiles

It had been six days since Derek left. Not that Stiles was counting. Really. He wasn't! At least, not intentionally. He couldn't help it if the first thing to pop into his head when he woke up was a steadily growing number. And that number was now six. Today, Stiles' least favourite number was six. He'd tried to keep his spirits up, and Lydia was being as supportive as she could be, but low moods can be hard to kick. He held a magazine rolled tightly in his fist as Lydia applied his eyeliner and attached an ear cuff to a stud by a thin chain. Stiles didn't understand why Derek had left the magazine. A voice in the back of his mind told him it was a sign of affection, but that just didn't line up with the idea of Derek using him, so he tried to push the thought down. It was easier to let Derek go, easier to accept that his dim future wouldn’t include Derek, if he was mad. Still, he held onto the magazine and read it over and over before shifts. Lydia smoothed the collar of his see-through button down, which he had been instructed to leave half open the entire night.  


"There! You look beautiful!" She pushed his chin to turn his head towards the mirror. She was right. His eyes danced over the bits of gold in his ears, the gold detailing in the cuffs and collar of the shirt, tied together with the glittering gold eyeliner she'd given him.  


"Wow, Lydia, this is - "  


"Great, I know!" For once, she seemed surprised instead of cocky. "Who knew you could pull off fairy prince so well?" Stiles went to smooth back his hair and she smacked the comb out of his hand. "Keep it messy, you look so beautiful like this."

The customers agreed. Stiles wasn't sure he'd ever been grabbed so much in his life. He noticed the men would treat him softer, like he was something precious and fragile instead of something to use. He was still a something to them, though. Not a someone. One customer whispered a particularly ridiculous line in his ear and Stiles almost rolled his eyes at the singer on stage before remembering it wasn't Derek. That stung a bit. Stiles eyed the clock – just a little over two hours left in the shift – and wished he could just call it a night. Go to bed, sleep for much too long, and think ‘seven’ when he opened his eyes the next morning. 

Stiles cleaned himself up, straightened his clothes, and checked his makeup after a particularly gentle customer. He was halfway through pushing the curtains back to return to the floor when Gerard stopped him with a hand on his chest. A sudden urge to break Gerard’s fingers almost overwhelmed Stiles. He bit the inside of his cheek.  


"Customer's waiting for you.”  


"Where?" It was all Stiles could say.  


"Room twelve."  


"Pardon?" Stiles never got to use that room. It had a balcony and everything, and he'd only heard good things about the sheets from Lydia.  


"Room twelve. Paid up for the last two hours of the night." Shit. Two hours? Nothing ever ended well with someone paying for more than an hour. Usually involved lots of role play, and not the kind Stiles generally enjoyed. At least Gerard wasn't smiling. Usually when someone paid for over an hour, his smile could be described as nothing other than the embodiment of sadism. Stiles made his way down the hall, steeling himself for the next two hours. He pushed the door open.  


"Hi." Derek flashed him a quick smile. Stiles paused, then burst into laughter. _What the hell is even happening right now?_ He felt a sudden lurch in his stomach and the laughter caught in his throat at the realization that this confirmed… everything. Gerard had been right all along. Derek hadn't had the chance to get a freebie, so now he was just biting the bullet and paying for what he wanted. _Fuck_. Tears threatened to rise in Stiles' eyes and he began unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way. _Go numb. Go numb, Stiles. Just zone out like you do with every customer_. Derek rushed over, shaking his head, brows pinched together. He touched Stiles' hand gently. So fucking gently. "What are you doing?"  


"Um, what you paid for?" Stiles screwed up his face and rolled his eyes, popping another button open.  


"God, no, Stiles, no - " Derek splayed his hand out over Stiles' as he undid another button. "Stop!" Derek's grabbed Stiles' hands and clutched them to his own chest, pulling their bodies closer together. "Stiles, that's not what I want. That's not what I paid for. Jesus, don't treat me like one of your customers!"  


"You are. You literally are, Derek. You have paid someone else for permission to fuck me. You are a customer. Deal with it." Stiles forced himself to look at Derek's face and, _shit_ , was that an expression of hurt? _No, no, don't let yourself go there. Customer. He's a customer. He was just trying to get a free fuck and now he's paying for it._ Derek sighed and dropped Stiles' hands.  


"You have to do whatever I want, right?"  


"Unless it causes me bodily harm or damage to the property," Stiles recited, "but we both know that neither of those rules _really_ apply." He winked and grinned sardonically. “So, what do you want? You seemed a fan of the whole ‘boyfriend experience’ thing,” Stiles snarled.  


"Dance with me." Derek held a hand out, the other behind his back.  


"What?"  


"Dance with me,” Derek repeated.  


“Are you fucking kidding me?” Stiles took half a step back.  


“You have to do whatever I want, and I want you to dance with me." Derek nodded towards his hand. Hesitantly, Stiles took it. They swayed together slowly – Stiles' other hand on Derek's shoulder, and Derek's on Stiles' waist – listening to the muffled sound of the band on stage.


	11. Chapter 11: Derek

They had been silent for a few minutes and Derek felt like he was going to explode from the urge to tell Stiles what he’d overheard. However, he was hesitant. What exactly _had_ he overheard? He was pretty sure he knew what it sounded like, but what if he’d been wrong? Doubt still buzzed at the back of his mind. Maybe he had misunderstood and Stiles genuinely wasn’t interested. Maybe the two-day trip back had been all for naught. Derek bit down a whimper when Stiles’ head dropped onto his shoulder, soft hair tickling his neck.  


"So after you pretend to woo me," Stiles slurred against Derek's collar bone, "the plan is, what? For me to drop to my knees and suck your brains out through your dick?" Derek's eyes widened involuntarily.  


"Is this how you seduce all your customers?"  


"Only the _really_ special ones," Stiles mumbled.  


"Not quite. If you must know, my plan after this was to talk."  


"Talk?" Stiles lifted his head and Derek had to resist the temptation to push it back down.  


"Yes, talk."  


"Derek," Stiles scoffed, "nobody pays to just _talk_."  


"Well, let me be the first." A smirk pulled on the corner of his mouth. "Let me do to you what nobody has ever done before." He could tell Stiles was holding back a grin. It made Derek's heart swell and break all at once.  


"You'll have to tip quite generously, someone gave me fifty the other day." Stiles waggled his eyebrows. Derek rolled his eyes and let out a dramatic sigh.  


"Fifty? Well guess I'll walk out the door now, I could never afford fifty." Derek squeezed Stiles' waist reassuringly. _I'm not going anywhere. You're priceless._ Stiles dropped his chin to his chest and Derek suspected he was hiding a smile.  


"So. Talk?" Stiles looked back up at him with pleading eyes.  


"Yes," Derek said, dropping his voice, trying to convey every possible hint of sincerity. He watched Stiles’ eyes dart around, examining his face, searching for a tell.  


"You're really not going to put any moves on me, are you?" Stiles looked more confused than anything. Derek felt Stiles' hand tighten around his own.  


"No," Derek said in the same all-business tone. "Well," he chuckled, "not tonight, at least. And when I do, I don't plan on it being in a paid-for situation." Derek thought he saw an actual spark light up in Stiles' eyes and they continued dancing. At the end of the song - one which Derek knew very well and this new singer was absolutely butchering, _by the way_ \- he dipped Stiles low.  


“I’m not enjoying this, just so you know,” Stiles said.  


“If you say so,” Derek replied. He kept his body as straight as he could, letting the strength of his arms hold Stiles up. Stiles closed his eyes and leaned his head all the way back. A lazy smile curled his lips. _Not enjoying this, eh?_ Once Derek had Stiles upright, he let him go. Stiles curtsied, pinching at the sides of a non-existent skirt. Derek bowed, deep and theatrical, in return. They stood in front of each other, just looking one another over for a moment. Derek had never seen Stiles dressed like this. Gold glittering everywhere – even above his deep brown eyes – and in relatively modest dress, which somehow held more allure than anything he'd ever seen Stiles wearing before, with messy hair. It made Derek want to card his fingers through it, play with Stiles' dark hair and hold him close. He looked like heaven in this room, surrounded by the dark blue walls, sparkling gold decor, and curtains – almost as sheer as Stiles' shirt – by the balcony, being moved calmly by a breeze.  


"Bed?" Stiles shot a thumb over his shoulder towards the bed, breaking Derek’s daydream state.  


"Stiles, I meant it when I said that wasn't the plan." He almost felt offended.  


"Yeah, and I believe you." Stiles grabbed Derek's hand and began leading him towards the elegantly decorated bed. Derek raised his eyebrow. "I do! I trust - I believe you. In case you haven't noticed, though, there's only one chair. That means one of us would have to stand, or I'd be sitting on your lap." He paused. "Unless _that_ was part of your plan, and I've just ruined it."  


"Definitely not.”


	12. Chapter 12: Stiles

They talked for what seemed like a long time, the conversation aimless and comfortable. Stiles hated how comfortable it was. He hated how he wanted to push Derek back onto the bed and let himself be wrapped up in Derek's arms. He hated it because he couldn’t keep it. He wanted to keep this.  


"Erica ate every single raspberry, didn't even ask if I wanted one." Stiles raised a finger to Derek's face. "One!"  


"So that's why you had so many raspberries that day when..." Derek's voice trailed off.  


"Yeah." Stiles tore his eyes off Derek, dropping them to his hands now clasped in his lap. "When we saw each other at the grocery store." _And went for coffee. And I hugged you for the first time._  


"Can we talk about that day?"  


"What's there to talk about?" Stiles shrugged.  


"I never got the chance to tell you I was moving." Derek reached over and touched Stiles' knee. Stiles could barely feel Derek's fingertips through the soft fabric of his black pants. "I was going to tell you that night, but you had to go and then you just stopped talking to me."  


"I didn't just stop talking to you!" Stiles turned his head to look at Derek so fast he heard his neck crack. Derek cocked an eyebrow. _Those fucking eyebrows._ "Okay," he sighed, "maybe a little bit but... I don't know. I had to. I couldn't talk to you anymore."  


"Gerard said something to you, didn't he?" Derek's hand rested heavier on Stiles' knee. Stiles nodded, unable to find words, lost in the colours of Derek's eyes. "Tell me what he said." Stiles shook his head. "Stiles," Derek said firmly. Stiles shook his head again, squeezing his eyes shut. "Please."  


"He just..." Stiles tightened his grip on his own hands. "He reminded me of a few things, a few _realities_ of the job." Stars burst in Stiles' vision behind his too-tightly shut lids. He felt Derek squeeze his knee. "Not good enough, huh?" His voice was threatening to crack. Derek's thumb brushed over his knee. "He said, god this sounds so fucking stupid now that I'm saying it out loud, he said you were probably just trying to get a free fuck." Derek's thumb stopped and Stiles tried to squeeze his eyes shut even tighter, as if he could somehow shut out the entire world. "He told me you had sex with Erica," Stiles blurted, "and I asked her and she confirmed it and I figured you knew that I had feelings for you so you were just using that to get my _services_ for free and - "  


"You have feelings for me?"  


"What?" Stiles' eyes snapped open. "That's what you got out of that?"  


"No." Derek frowned. "I guess a little. You have feelings for me? Like, real feelings?" Stiles shoved Derek's shoulder.  


"Yes, you idiot," he groaned. "Big, stupid, goobery, I-want-to-be-the-reason-you-smile-in-the-morning feelings." Derek was beaming. "What? Don't you look at me like that," Stiles warned jokingly, trying to keep his own face straight. He couldn't hold out for long. Derek's smile was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. It was better than sunshine. Better than the all the stars in the sky. "Don't tell me you have sappy, cutesy feelings for me too, big guy." Stiles' face fell just a little, knowing Derek's response could go either way. He expected the worst. He braced himself for it. What he was not expecting, however, was for Derek to grab his cheeks and pull him into a kiss. Gentle at first, almost unsure, until Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek's neck and they both fell into it, losing themselves in the feeling of each other, the taste of each other, the release of _finally_. Stiles was the one to pull away for air. For the first time in his life, a kiss left him breathless. Derek leaned their foreheads together, seeming a little short of breath himself, a hand resting firmly on the back of Stiles' neck.  


"You have no idea how long..."  


"So – ” Stiles cleared his throat, “ – does that mean you have feelings for me too because I'm going to feel really stupid if I just assume - "  


"Yes, god, yes, shut up." Derek kissed him again, deeply, his fingers weaving in Stiles' hair.  


"This is the best day of my life," Stiles muttered. Derek pressed a kiss into his hair. "I missed you so much. It felt like time stopped without you." Stiles felt Derek puff a breath into his hair as he softly gave another kiss to his forehead. "You got that magazine for me from the Starbucks. You had to go back to get it! Who even does that?"  


"Oh!" Suddenly Derek pulled away and jumped off the bed. Stiles reached out and made grabby hands at Derek's back while Derek dug in his messenger bag. Derek crossed the room and dropped back onto the bed. Stiles grabbed his knee and reveled in the newfound freedom to touch Derek. In Derek's hands were pamphlets and thin magazine-sized books.  


"What - " Stiles pointed to the glossy papers, " - the hell are those?"  


"Read them." Derek passed one to Stiles. _Guide To Getting Your GED_.  


"Derek - "  


"I got a few college brochures too. I wasn't sure if you'd want to aim for a university or community college, so I brought both - "  


"Derek!" Tears welled up in Stiles’ eyes and he dropped the pamphlet back in Derek’s lap. “Why would you do this?”  


“What?” Derek’s smile faded and he frowned, looking at the pamphlets in his hands. “I don’t understand – ”  


“I can’t… I’m not…” _I’m a stupid whore. Stupid._ “This – ” Stiles gestured widely to the room with one hand, wiping away a tear with his other, “ – is my life. We’ve _talked_ about this, Der! I know, okay? I know. I know this is all I’m good for and there’s no need for you to remind me. My future is dim, _czarny_ ,” he slurred out in his best Polish, “no light at the end of the tunnel, _oscuro como la noche_ , Derek. I already know. I wouldn’t have enough brain cells to rub together to do any work other than this.” Anger started to tinge his voice. “All I’ll ever be good at is spreading myself open and letting my mind go blank!” He was yelling. He knew he should reel his voice back in, but couldn’t help it. Everything was spilling out. “I’m just a stupid whore, Derek! A stupid whore and nothing else! Don’t you get that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unless google lied to me -  
> "Czarny" is Polish for "black"  
> "Oscuro como la noche" is Spanish for "dark as night"


	13. Chapter 13: Derek

To say that Stiles’ reaction was unexpected would be the understatement of the century. Not only was Derek caught off guard by the anger, but that Stiles was genuinely insecure – and, _unaware_ – of his intelligence? He couldn’t have predicted that. It wasn’t right. Stiles was smart and deserved to know it. Derek realized he’d been quiet for too long when Stiles started shouting again.  


“Don’t you fucking get it?”  


“I don’t. I don’t get it, Stiles, because I _see_ you! I see you spouting random facts and searching for new information all the time. I saw you eyeing that magazine when we went for coffee like it held all the answers in the world. Do you know how many times I’ve caught you flipping through my books before slipping them back in my bag? You know _three_ languages! If this is what you want to do for the rest of your life, all the power to you, there’s nothing wrong with that. If it’s not what you want, though, if it’s not, then…”  


“Then what?” Stiles looked tired. Derek fiddled with the top corner of the cover on the CCSF booklet.  


“I picked these up when I was home for a couple days.” Derek kept his eyes trained on the floor. He couldn’t stand to see Stiles in tears. “I remembered you’d said something about an interest in journalism and – ”  


“That’s a pipedream, Der.”  


“Why? Explain to me,” Derek snapped, “why you can’t do it?”  


“I’m not – ”  


“Smart enough? Stiles, I swear to god if you say that, I’m going to…” he softened, feeling Stiles tense beside him, “I’m going to _bite_ you, okay? If you tell me you’re not smart enough, I will _bite you_.”  


“Now Derek,” Stiles sniffled, giggling softly, “is that a threat or a promise?” Derek bumped their shoulders together. “Alright, alright, we’re being serious. Got it. But _seriously_ , I don’t think I could do it. I haven’t been in school since I was fifteen. Being a prostitute is all I _know_.”  


“Stiles – ” Derek pinched the bridge of his nose, borderline frustrated, “ – you know I have no problem with you working this job. I don’t think any less of you for doing it out of necessity, or if you did it simply because you love it, but I hope you know it’s not your only option.”  


“I’m scared,” Stiles whispered.  


“I’m not saying jump straight into Yale, Stiles. Start with your GED and we’ll go from there.”  


“We?” Stiles’ face was some combination of hope and fear. Derek wanted to kiss the fear away.  


“Yes – ” he grabbed Stiles’ hand, “ – we. If you really want to do this, then…” Derek clenched his jaw.  


“Then what, Derek? That’s the second time you’ve left me hanging – ”  


“Come with me.” Derek’s heart was racing a million miles a minute.  


“Pardon?”  


“When I leave tonight. Come with me.” Derek squeezed Stiles’ hand. _Please come with me._ Derek waited, patience growing ever thinner, as Stiles looked between his face, the pamphlets in his hands, and the room around them.  


“Do you really think I’m smart enough? Do you honestly think I could have a future other than this?”  


“Yes, absolutely, if you want it.”  


“God.” Stiles’ cheeks blanched. “I want it so bad.”

\------------

At the end of their two hours, they marched to Gerard’s office hand-in-hand. Derek quickly kissed Stiles’ forehead.  


“I’ll be right there with you. You’ve got this.”  


“I’ve got this,” Stiles whispered. His face scrunched up and he took a step back. “I can’t do this, Derek. Shit, I can’t do this. I can’t, I’m not smart enough, I won’t make it out there alone – ” Derek silenced Stiles with a kiss. He would never get tired of that.  


“You are smart enough – ” he stroked a thumb over Stiles’ cheek, “ – and you won’t be alone.” Stiles heaved a deep sigh. “You ready?”  


“I think so.” Stiles let go of Derek’s hand and knocked on Gerard’s office door. At the sound of a muffled ‘come in’, Stiles pushed the door open and stepped inside. Derek made sure to stay right on his heel.  


“Gentlemen, what can I do for you?” Gerard smiled at them from the other side of his desk.  


“I quit,” Stiles murmured.  


“What was that, Stiles? My hearing is going. You know, being an _old man_ and all.” Any hint of a smile had disappeared. Derek didn’t like the look on Gerard’s face, didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him. He placed a reassuring hand on Stiles’ shoulder.  


“I quit. I’m leaving with Derek. Tonight.”  


“Oh, _are_ you now?” Gerard stood and circled his desk, settling in front of Stiles. He bent at the waist to meet Stiles’ face. Even though Gerard was only a couple inches taller, Stiles seemed impossibly small. “And what are you going once you leave, hm?”  


“I’m going to go to school.” Stiles shifted his feet and pulled his shoulders inward. Derek took a step to close the space between himself and Stiles. Something about the way Gerard was looking at Stiles set Derek’s entire body on edge.  


“School? Stiles, please,” Gerard hissed. “What kind of crazy thing gave you the idea that you could go to school?” Gerard cast an accusing glance at Derek. Derek wondered briefly what it would be like to squeeze the life out of someone by their throat. _Don’t get involved. This isn’t your battle to win_.  


“I can do it,” Stiles whimpered. Silence hung heavily in the air, suffocating, like sheet of thick smoke. Gerard was forcing Stiles into exceedingly long eye contact and Stiles was shrinking under it.  


“Are you sure you can do it,” Gerard asked, finally. Stiles shrugged, then offered a meek nod. “A shrug and a nod? You don’t seem so sure. You know, you’re much better off staying here – ”  


“He’s sure,” Derek interjected. “GED, then journalism. Right, Stiles?” Stiles nodded timidly again.  


“Alright, if that’s really what you want.” Gerard went back to his seat and pressed a button on his phone. Moments later, a massive security guard was shoving his way into the room. “Our young Stiles here wants to leave. Aiden, will you take him to his room and help him pack his things?” The security guard, Aiden, nodded and pulled Stiles away from Derek by his bicep. Derek made a move to follow and Aiden shoved Derek back by the shoulder.  


“Just him. We’ll be back shortly,” Aiden said. Derek shoved the brochures towards Stiles.  


“Put them in your bag,” Derek instructed. Stiles grabbed them all just before Aiden dragged him out of reach.  


“See you soon, Der.” Stiles and Aiden disappeared around the corner. This did not sit right with Derek at all. He couldn’t stand to be in the same room as Gerard, so he waited in the hallway. He paced, checking his watch obsessively. Half an hour later, Aiden returned. Alone.  


“Where is he?” Derek was already closing the space between them, fists ready at his sides.  


“Didn’t want to go,” Aiden deadpanned.  


“He did.”  


“No, he didn’t. Started packing up then had some kind of mental breakdown. Said he was too stupid.” Aiden shrugged and knocked on Gerard’s open door. “Kid’s staying, boss.”  


“Oh, that’s too bad,” Gerard said in a mock-sympathetic tone. “Cold feet, Derek. You understand.” Gerard rose from his desk and joined the two men in the hall. Aiden and Gerard seemed to close in on Derek, trying to tower over him even though the three were the same height. Derek could smell the cigarettes and mint gum on Gerard. Could feel the curiosity regarding strangulation returning quite rapidly, to boot. “Leave, Derek. If I ever see you here again – ” he tilted his head towards Aiden, “ – it won’t end well for you at all.”


	14. Chapter 14: Stiles

Stiles' hands felt bruised and the voice screaming at the door didn't even sound like his own anymore. He pounded on the door with his aching fists, threw himself against it until he thought the impact might dislocate his shoulder. Through the burning pain in his throat, he screamed and shouted until his voice was raspy and sobs choked off Derek's name. He should have known. He should have fucking known that Gerard wouldn't let him leave. Stiles berated himself for not knowing better. Lydia's reaction should have given away that there was something off when she'd been touring him on his first day. She ushered him away from a heavy-looking door at the end of a hallway after he asked what 'that room' was for. At least he'd gotten his answer. This was what 'that room' was for. Breaking the worst cases of rebellion, punishment, keeping Gerard's property securely in his possession. There wasn't even a clock in the room. Just a mattress on the floor and a heavy door keeping him from freedom. After what felt like hours, the lock on the door clicked and Stiles scrambled to his feet, holding his bruised fists up in front of him.  


"Are you done with that god-awful shouting?" Gerard shut the door behind him, locking them in the confined space together.  


"Only if you're done holding me prisoner," Stiles rasped. Gerard grinned. It was ugly, wicked, and made Stiles' gut twist. His fists dropped a couple inches, his arms tired.  


"I'm only trying to help, Stiles."  


"Yourself, maybe." Stiles raised his fists again, arms shaking, as Gerard took a step towards him. “Yeah, c’mon over here old man. Take one more step closer and I’ll break your dentures.” Gerard continued crossing the room. Stiles only got one swing in, barely brushing Gerard’s ear, before a firm backhanded slap sent him reeling sideways.  


“Are you done?” Gerard moved to join Stiles where he was leaning against the wall. Stiles shook his head, throwing out another clumsy punch. He didn’t even hit anything. Gerard balled a fist of Stiles’ hair and slammed his head against the concrete wall. White burst across Stiles’ vision, fading just in time for Gerard to shove him onto the ground and land a solid blow on his cheek.  


“No more,” Stiles whimpered. Gerard punched him again. “Please!” Again. “Wait! Waitwaitwa- ” Again. Stiles could taste blood and searing pain spread across his face. Gerard pulled back for a fifth and Stiles covered his face with his hands. “Okay! Okay! Enough!”  


“You belong to me, Stiles.” Gerard finally stepped away. “You’re not going anywhere. Do you hear me?”  


“One day I’ll leave,” Stiles hissed. Gerard stepped forward again and Stiles shuffled back, pressing himself against the wall. “But not today, okay? I’ll stay.” He dropped his head to his knees, hitting the sore spot from the wall. “I’ll stay.”

\--------------

Gerard kept Stiles in solitary confinement for four more days. Stiles was in pain and weak the entire time. And fucking furious. His stomach felt like it was eating itself from the inside out, only subsiding for about an hour each day when Gerard would bring in a lonely peanut butter sandwich. Stiles prodded at the bruises on his cheek, his split lip, the swelling and ugly bruises and cuts on his shaking hands. It burned and ached all at once, and he wasn’t sure why he kept doing it. Gerard tried to convince him multiple times a day that Derek would never come back for him, that Derek didn’t care enough about him to return. Stiles almost believed it once, when his sandwich had been about six hours late, and he was ready to believe anything if it meant he could just fucking eat. Eventually Gerard hauled him to his feet and pulled him out into the hall.  


“Clean yourself up, have something to eat, and get ready. Be on the floor in three hours.”  


“Yes, sir.”  


In the shower, Stiles wondered how Lydia was going to cover up all his marks. This was no subtle purple mark beside his eye like before. The hot water made the bruises itch, and it burned where his skin was split open, but it felt so good to get clean again that he didn’t mind. Stiles wandered down to the kitchen, trying to focus on anything but the burning desire to _run run run escape!_  


“Carrots?” Lydia shoved a bag of baby carrots in his direction. He shook his head. “They help you see in the dark.” He shook his head again. She shrugged. Stiles was fucking enraged. He’d just been locked away, held against his will and beaten, for four days and there she was lecturing him about his carrot intake. He didn’t need night vision to know just how much darker his entire fucking future had just gotten over the course of a few days.  


“That’s bullshit, you know.” Stiles bit the anger down. Lydia had done nothing wrong. Not directly, anyway, and there were more worthy targets of his rage. She made a questioning sound as she bit into a carrot. He pulled a mostly empty jug of milk out of the fridge and poured the contents down his throat. “Carrots can help your vision, sort of, but they can’t make you see in the dark.” Stiles wiped away the milk moustache with the back of his less-bruised hand. “That was propaganda during the second world war. They said their soldiers ate more carrots to explain how they kept hitting German planes at night. It was to hide their new radars.” Lydia nodded slowly.  


“Interesting.” She crunched on yet another carrot, staring off into space.  


“Lydia,” Stiles sighed, “why didn’t you come looking for me? I’ve been gone _four days_!” She seemed shocked.  


“Stiles, I knew exactly where you were. I’ve been in there myself. It’s just his way of running things.”  


“Do you really think that’s acceptable?” He gestured to the purple and red on his face. “Do you think this is acceptable?” She shrugged.  


“There’s nothing I can do.”  


“You can get the fuck out of here!” He gestured wildly in the direction of the front door. “If we all leave, he’ll have nobody and the house will close! Nobody will ever be at his mercy again!” Lydia slumped over. She’d stopped eating carrots. The bag dangled loosely from her finger hooked in the torn-open hole. “Haven’t you wanted anything more than this?” She dropped her head and Stiles suddenly felt guilty. _Well that’s not fair. I’m the last person who should be feeling guilty right now._  


“I did once.” She crunched the bag in her fist. “But not anymore.” Lydia snapped her head up and there was fire in her eyes. “That’s not an option anymore. We don’t get that option, Stiles. This is it. This is forever.” She threw the bag of carrots at him and stomped away. _Gerard had gotten to Lydia too?_

\-------------

Lydia, despite refusing to talk to him, covered his bruises and cuts as best she could. The customers still noticed. Stiles did his best to somehow work them to his advantage. He discovered quickly that there’s no way to work marks of abuse to your advantage.

\------------

The counting had started again. Without his permission, too, _thank you very much_. It had been eight days. Eight days since he was pulled out of the office and his last words to the man he loved were, for all intents and purposes, a lie.

\------------

On day ten, he almost fell off a customer’s lap from shock. The customer was tiny anyway, it’s not Stiles’ fault that tiny laps can be hard to stay on. He was nearly toppled over by the sight of a man walking through the front door. Tall, well built, black hair, stubble, strong jaw… not Derek. Of course it wasn’t Derek. He refused to let himself believe Gerard. He refused to believe Derek wouldn’t come back for him.

He was starting to believe it anyway.

\------------

At night, Stiles would hum and try to dance with himself. It wasn’t at all the same. One night he got Lydia involved. She made for an even less convincing Derek than his own arms wrapped around himself. He read over the pamphlets, running his fingers along the folded edges and gingerly touching the curled corner of the CCSF booklet cover. It was getting harder with each passing day. ‘It’, in this case, being everything. Working, trying to keep his spirits up, fending off Jackson’s advances, and just being alive in general seemed to be the worst of it.

\------------

On day thirteen, while he was in the middle of flipping Jackson the bird while the floor was empty, he heard an unfamiliar voice say his name.  


“Stiles? He’s here somewhere.” Gerard scanned the floor and Stiles tried to shrink into his couch. It wasn’t unheard of for a new customer to come looking for a specific worker. A recommendation from an office buddy, most likely. “Over there.” Stiles felt the stranger’s eyes on him so he perked up and did his best flirty wave. Eyelash flutter included for extra flair.  


“Do you have a room with a balcony?” The man was handsome. A pleasant surprise, at least.  


“We do. It will cost you an extra forty, though. May I ask why you want that room?” Gerard accepted the extra cash the stranger handed over without hesitation.  


“You may ask,” the man said. A smile that was somewhere between sin itself and playfulness appeared on his lips. Gerard nodded and held a hand out, forgoing asking the question again. “I’d like to fuck him over the railing. He’s so small, I could just flip him over the edge.” The man turned his head slowly to look at Stiles. “I won’t, of course. I just love the idea of holding his life in my hands. The power is, - ” he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, holding it a moment “ – indescribable.” _The handsome ones are always psychos._ Stiles didn’t much like the idea of putting his life in someone else’s hands. He barely cared to put his pleasure in someone else’s hands because they always seemed to do it wrong. Hopefully ‘doing it wrong’ was not an option tonight.  


“Stiles,” Gerard barked. Stiles wanted to tell him he didn’t need to yell, he could hear just fine. He’d heard _everything_ they’d said just fine. “Take this gentleman to room twelve, please.” Stiles crossed the floor and pulled the customer by the hand through the curtains and down the hall. It sank in more with every step that this actual nutcase could kill him by accident. He’d never escape. He’d never get to see Derek again. Gerard would cover the whole thing up and life would carry on as normal. Stiles opened the door and gestured for his customer to lead the way inside. The customer pressed a hand against the door above Stiles’ head, holding it open.  


“Please - ” the man nodded inside the room, “ - you first. I’m nothing if not a gentleman in these situations.” Stiles wanted to roll his eyes – _I don’t think risking my life is very gentlemanly_ – but chose to smile and enter the room instead. He tried to ignore the lump quickly forming in his throat. The last time he was in this room, the only time he’d been in this room, he and Derek were together.  


“This way, handsome,” Stiles cooed, leading the man towards the balcony doors by his tie.  


“What on earth are you doing?” The man grabbed Stiles’ hand, stopping him in his tracks.  


“You don’t have to play shy – ” Stiles closed the space between them and kissed his impressively muscular neck, “ – I heard you out there. I know _exactly_ what you want.” He searched the stranger’s electric blue eyes. “My life in your hands, with the best fuck of your life as the cherry on top, I assume.” Taking a step away, he tried to continue towards the balcony. _Come on, dude, let’s get this over with!_  


“You are a temptation that the best of men would give in to, Stiles – ” The customer closed his eyes and heaved a sigh, “ – and I have certainly never been accused of being the best of men, let alone a good one, but I made a promise to my nephew.” _Say what now?_ “Though I’m starting to regret that promise immensely,” he grumbled. Stiles let go of the tie and dropped his hands. The man wandered across the room and pulled a small pair of scissors from his pocket.  


“What the actual hell are you doing?” In his confusion, Stiles had completely lost his work persona.  


“Well you can’t just walk out the front door, can you?” The man cut into the sheet on the bed, separating a third of it lengthwise.  


“Okay, whoa, you gotta stop, like right now. Right fucking now.” Stiles stomped his foot and the man turned around. “Explain what the fuck this – ” he waggled a finger at the destroyed sheet, “ – is, and why you’re not fucking me fast and dirty over the railing _like you paid for_.”  


“Good god, Stiles. I’m Peter.”  


“And?” Stiles crossed his arms.  


“Peter Hale? Seriously? Derek’s never mentioned me?” Peter scoffed. “I have a few words for him when we get out of here.”  


“Did you just say ‘Derek’?”  


“I did, Stiles,” Peter said in a mocking tone, “I did just say Derek. Derek, my jerk of a nephew. Derek, who’s waiting for you in his stupid Camaro.” Peter ripped another third of the sheet off and began tying the ends of two pieces together. Stiles thought he might faint. He wanted to shout and cheer and run away all at once. Peter tied the third piece on and started towards the balcony.  


“Wait, wait, so – so what’s happening? What’s going on?” Stiles feet were frozen to the floor – the floor that felt strangely like it was spinning underneath him.  


“Really? He told me you were smart.” Peter sneered. “We’re getting you out of here. The last time you tried to walk out the door it didn’t go so well, if the bruises you’ve tried to hide are anything to go by. This time, Derek thought we could try escape via window. Much more _fun_ than walking out a boring front door, anyway.” Stiles finally found control over his own limbs again, though the spinning feeling continued. _I’m going to see Derek! Am I really going to see Derek?_ He joined Peter’s side where he was tying the sheet-rope off on the balcony. The end dangled a couple feet above the ground.  


“I’m not sure I really agree with your definition of ‘fun’.” Stiles watched as Peter tested the knot on the railing.  


“Trust me,” he purred, “if I were an even worse man than I already am, you’d very quickly agree with my definition of fun.” For once, Stiles didn’t doubt a customer’s seemingly outlandish claim. Stiles was almost disappointed that Peter wasn't a real customer. ‘Almost’, being the key word. _What? The Hales have damn good genes._ "You ready?" Peter held a hand out and an image of Derek asking to dance flashed across Stiles' mind. It crushed any doubts he had about leaving.  


"As I'll ever be." He took Peter's hand and hoisted himself up onto the balcony railing. "Don't fucking let me fall oh my god please don't let me fall, Peter, don't - "  


"I won't." Peter's eyes were sharp. Alert. "Which hand is your strong one?"  


"Right."  


"Okay. I'll hold your left until you're ready to let go." Peter let go of Stiles' right hand and grabbed his left wrist. Stiles felt surprisingly secure for standing on a railing. He crouched down and took the sheets in his free hand, then hesitantly stepped off the railing. His feet scrambled for purchase against the wall. Peter did not let him fall. Stiles found his footing against the wall and nodded at Peter. He just let go of Stiles' hand at first, only releasing his wrist when he was sure Stiles had a solid grip of the sheets.  


"Are you coming down after me, or are you just going to go back through the house?" Stiles grunted as he lowered himself inch by inch. His hands ached, his arms burned in protest.  


"Go through the front door and miss all the fun? Please."  


" _Quelle surprise_." Stiles thought his heart might explode from adrenaline. He couldn't tell if it was from fear or excitement. Maybe both. His bare feet shuffled down the wall and he was sure he was getting cuts on his toes. Peter watched him the entire time, looking as though he'd just jump straight to the ground if Stiles slipped. Thankfully, that wasn't necessary. Stiles felt grass on the soles of his feet when he dropped down at the end. A tall shrub scratched up his bare back when he’d fallen the few feet through the air. He didn’t even care. "Okay, your turn," he whispered up at Peter.  


"Get through the front gates and take a right, then a left at Sheridan, left on Kathrine, then right on Fifth. Got it?" Stiles nodded. "Go. I'll be fine." Peter waved him away. Stiles opened his mouth to protest. His words were caught in his throat at the sound of Gerard's voice around the corner.  


"Be safe." It was all Stiles could think to say before breaking into a sprint towards the front gates. It was a big lawn to cross before getting through them. He was scared he wouldn't make it. Maybe Gerard would be distracted. Maybe he'd get lucky! He flew past the corner of the building, in full view of Gerard and Lydia.  


"You." Gerard raised a pointed finger at Stiles, flicking a cigarette in his direction. Stiles lost his footing and the ground met his face, damp grass getting up his nose and staining his cheek. He was frozen, eyes locked with Gerard's. "I'm going to kill you, Stilinski." He fucking meant it, too. Stiles could see it in his eyes. This was it. He was going to die. Gerard took two fast steps, the beginnings of a jog, towards Stiles. Stiles saw the flash of a pale leg sweep under Gerard’s feet. His body landed on the ground with a thud and Lydia leapt on Gerard’s back, pinning him down.  


“Go!” Lydia fought against Gerard as he tried to rise. Stiles clamored to get back on his feet and ran full-tilt across the lawn towards the gates. His feet pounded in the dirt and his lungs burned and he’d never felt this _alive_ in his entire life. He almost stopped to cheer when he crossed the threshold of the gates. He was out! He heard Lydia screaming something that sounded like ‘no’ and ‘Stiles’, and took that as a hint to celebrate later. The impact of his feet against the sidewalk rocked all the way up to his jaw, but he kept going, looking for street signs.  


“Sheridan,” he whispered to himself as he gasped for air, reading the street sign. He curled over, resting his hands on his knees, just trying to calm his breathing to the point it didn’t feel like he was swallowing razors. A hand clapped on his shoulder and a sense of dread washed over him. This was it. He was definitely going to die this time.  


“Come on!” Peter grabbed his wrist and pulled. “He’s coming. No Time for a break.” Stiles pumped his legs as fast as he could behind Peter, following his lead around corners and down dark streets.


	15. Chapter 15: Derek

They were taking too long. Derek paced in front of his car, feeling increasingly helpless and defeated with every passing minute. He should have gone in himself. He should have been there to at least help. Fear curled around his spine, frustration buried itself in his throat, and guilt pushed down on his shoulders. Derek slammed his fists against the roof of his car and let out a low growling sound. They were taking too long. He was going to go after them. He raised his head and turned to go down the street. As if on cue, his uncle came barreling around the corner. Derek’s legs went weak.  


“Where is he, Peter, where’s – ”  


“DEREK!” A mostly-naked Stiles flew around the corner and sprinted towards him, passing Peter and leaving him in his wake. Stiles crashed into Derek’s body, knocking the breath out of him, wrapping his legs around Derek’s hips and nuzzling into the crook of his neck. Derek had never been so happy to struggle for breath.  


“Stiles – ”  


“You came back,” Stiles sobbed into Derek’s neck. Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles’ trim waist, squeezing so tight he thought Stiles might break. _No. Nothing could break Stiles._  


“Of course I did.” Derek pressed a kiss into his hair.  


“Save the heartfelt reunion for later. I’m not sure we shook the old man,” Peter said, unlocking his own car parked in front of Derek’s. He dropped into the driver’s seat, slammed the door shut, and sped off. Stiles hesitantly unwrapped his legs and Derek lowered him to the ground. He was so impossibly beautiful. Derek held Stiles’ face, palms against his mole-spotted cheeks, careful against the bruise that Derek was sure hadn’t been there when he left. He dove in and kissed Stiles, finding where their lips fit together perfectly, wiping away Stiles’ tears with his thumbs. Stiles whimpered against his mouth and Derek kissed him harder. _I’m never letting you go again_. He pulled away, resting his forehead against Stiles’.  


“We need to go,” Derek whispered. Stiles nodded, his adorable upturned nose tapping against the pointed tip of Derek’s. It felt physically painful to let go of Stiles, but Derek managed to tear himself away. It didn’t last long, as their hands found each other again as soon as they were settled in the car. Derek turned the key in the ignition just in time to see Gerard walking quickly down the street. Derek hit the gas and the car accelerated in Gerard’s direction.  


“Hit him,” Stiles said in a hushed tone. He didn’t have to repeat it. Derek jerked the wheel and jumped the curb. He couldn’t help it if the thud of Gerard’s hip bouncing off his hood made him smile. Not that he felt particularly worried about being judged, since Stiles had both fists in the air and was cheering loudly. Stiles leaned his body out the passenger window. “Fuck you, _old man_!” Derek grabbed the waistband of Stiles’ pants as Stiles leaned out further to shove both middle fingers in Gerard’s direction. They turned the corner and Stiles collapsed back into the car, a wide smile spread across his face and that beautiful spark twinkling wildly in his eyes.  


“You’re safe.” Derek squeezed Stiles’ thigh and Stiles sighed. It sounded like years of tension and fear escaping all at once. The streetlights cast moving shadows and stripes of light across Stiles’ face. Stiles laughed and cheered loudly again. They turned onto the sparsely populated highway, both taking in the view of open roads ahead. “How are you feeling?”  


“Free. Finally, free.” Stiles sighed again, relaxing back into his seat. “And just so, so glad I’ve got you.”  


“You’ve got me.” Derek brushed a thumb along Stiles’ cheek. Stiles had his head turned, watching the world fly past them through the passenger window.  


“It’s so bright.” Stiles weaved his fingers between Derek’s. They fit perfectly.  


“Stiles, it’s the middle of the night.” Derek shook his head, smiling.  


“My future, Der. It’s so fucking bright now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please don't forget to leave a comment, I'd love to hear from you!


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